


Til Death Do Us Part

by impalagirl, wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [64]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Because Bucky is a worrywart, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Gender Exploration, Gender Identity, Getting Together, M/M, Marriage for Legal Reasons, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Trans Character, Trans Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 08:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14540322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalagirl/pseuds/impalagirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: Steve blinks. “I -Whatdid you just say? Because I swear I just heard you ask me to marry you.”Bucky looks steadily back at his best friend of fifteen years, and wishes vaguely that he'd thought to have a drink or six before starting this conversation. "I did," he says. "Marry me, Stevie."





	Til Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> So, just a quick disclaimer here: I(wilddragonflying) wrote Steve here. This is how I chose to depict Steve as a ftm transgender person. That being said, if I have done something offensively, please POLITELY let me know down in the comments(just don't be like "hey fucker you did this wrong u suck") and I'll do my best to edit it into something better!

Steve blinks. “I - _What_ did you just say? Because I swear I just heard you ask me to marry you.”

Bucky looks steadily back at his best friend of fifteen years, and wishes vaguely that he'd thought to have a drink or six before starting this conversation. "I did," he says. "Marry me, Stevie."

Now Steve frowns. "Why?" he asks, suspicious. 

Bucky sighs. "Because the war is getting worse," he answers, "and you're all I've got. It's only a matter of time before I have to get out there. I want to know you'll be looked after if I come home in a wooden box."

"You're not going to do that," Steve says - but it's not as convicted as it could be. He remembers how his own father came home in a pine box, during the last war, and he's seen enough of those men in black with their awful, solemn bearing waiting to be let into apartments and homes. "Who would even marry us? You know that I'm not..."

"We'd go back up your ma's way," Bucky tells him. He's given this a lot of thought, wouldn't be bringing it to Steve without it. "Tell them you're, y'know, 'better'. Father Thomas would piss himself at the chance."

Steve's expression turns mulish. "He would," he mutters, still frowning - and then he sighs. "You're really this worried about it?"

"Even if I don't die, you'll still be entitled to some of my salary," Bucky reasons. "I can't leave you here to kill yourself trying to make rent."

Steve glares at Bucky, but his heart clearly isn't in it. "Fine. I hate it when you get all logical on me, but fine. When do you want to do it?"

Bucky shrugs. "As soon as possible, I guess."

Steve takes a moment to think. "You're off tomorrow, right?"

Bucky snorts. "We can't get married _tomorrow_."

"Why not? You weren't planning on a huge ceremony, were you?"

"Of course not," Bucky huffs. "We could ask, I guess. See if Father Thomas has any free time?"

"He's a mean old bastard, I doubt he's got anything going on that isn't related to the church," Steve snorts. "And like you said, if we tell him you've convinced me to quit living like this, then he'll probably clear his schedule."

Bucky inclines his head. "All right," he says, "we'll give it a shot." He hesitates. "You're gonna have to look the part, though. You all right with that?"

Steve shrugs. "It's only for one day, and if doing this will keep you from worrying too much while you're overseas, then I'll be fine."

* * *

Steve makes a face as they walk down the street, the church he'd grown up attending just barely in sight. "You're lucky I'm so damn fond of you," he mutters, resisting the urge to pull at his skirt or cross his arms over his chest. There wasn't much to be done about his hair on such short notice, but he feels better for it. "I haven't been back here in years, even when Mom was alive. Wonder if Mrs. Berk is still alive; she was a damn fossil when I was a kid."

"If she's not dead I think the shock'll kill her," Bucky mutters, taking Steve's arm as they cross the street. "I told you, you gotta stop doin' that with your voice."

Steve frowns, but makes himself take a deep breath before he speaks. "You're right," he says reluctantly, and has to suppress a wince at the difference. "Damn it." He lets himself hold just a little tighter to Bucky's arm, drawing strength as he relaxes his posture. "We're supposed to be happy today, even if it's a wedding because you're worried about dying."

Bucky tightens his hold, too, and keeps his voice low. "You're doing great," he murmurs. "Just a little longer, and then we can go home and you can change and wipe all that crap off your face, and we can find a coupla dames to take out for the evenin', okay?"

"I'd rather just go home and sleep," Steve confesses. "This is exhausting. Also, I know we aren't getting a honeymoon but you _are_ being deployed soon, and I don't really want to go out tonight after doing this."

Bucky sighs, lets go of Steve's arm to wrap his own around Steve's shoulders. "Whatever you want, pal." He hesitates. "Or should I say _darlin'?_ "

Steve shudders. "Just for today," he says. "But I'll punch you right in the nose if you call me that after today."

Bucky laughs. "Wouldn't dream of it, Stevie."

"Good." By this time, they've almost reached the church, and Steve's steps slow, his head tilting back to take in the sight. It's a magnificent building, he has to admit, but that doesn't lessen his unease. "You're sure we can pull this off?"

"Positive," Bucky tells him. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Steve says, squaring his shoulders briefly before he makes himself relax. 

"Then let's go." Bucky gives Steve one final squeeze before releasing him, and reaches out to push open the church doors.

* * *

Father Thomas is clearly surprised to see them, and while he doesn't piss himself as Bucky had guessed, he is insufferably smug as he calls in a couple of deacons to serve as witnesses for Steve and Bucky's marriage. Steve plays his part as best he can, hiding the way he chafes when Father Thomas uses his birth name in the ceremony, and when he pronounces the two of them husband and wife. The kiss they share, as tradition dictates, is chaste, perfunctory. Steve smiles and bears it as they're congratulated, until they're finally on the train heading back to Brooklyn. 

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he mutters, running a shaky hand through his hair. "I can't wait until we get back and I can give Becca back her clothes."

"You did great," Bucky tells him earnestly. "Thank you for this, Steve."

“Well, if it gets you to quit worrying and start focusing on coming back safe, then it’s worth it,” Steve says, unable to hold back a small smile. “And you’re gonna quit worrying now, right?”

Bucky sighs, throws his arm around Steve's shoulders so that he can't see his face. "Yeah," he says. "Sure thing, pal."

”You’re not fooling me,” Steve informs Bucky. “Just - Promise me that, if you’re going to worry about me, remember that the worst thing that could happen is you _not_ coming back. I need you to come back, Bucky.”

Bucky huffs, and uses the pretence they're supposed to be keeping up as an excuse to hide his face in Steve's hair. "I know," he murmurs. "I'm gonna do everything I can."

"Good," Steve murmurs, giving in to the urge to turn and lean into Bucky. "Don't go making me a widow so soon."

Something deep inside Bucky winces at that, and he glances up to make sure no one else in the carriage is paying them any mind. "A widow _er_ ," he corrects. "And don't you go making me one, either."

Steve smiles at Bucky's correction. "Well, since you promised you're going to do your best to come back, I'll promise to do my best to be here when you do."

Bucky smiles. "Steve Barnes, I think we have a deal."

Steve laughs. “That’ll take some getting used to.”

* * *

Steve breathes a sigh of relief when they finally enter Bucky’s family’s apartment, darting to Becca’s room so that he can change, swapping his borrowed clothes for the ones he’d stashed here before they’d left. With each item of clothing replaced, the knot in his chest loosens a little bit more, until he can breathe easy(well, as easy as he can ever breathe) once again, rolling his shoulders as he finally settles back into his skin.

They visit with Bucky’s family for a little while before heading back to their own apartment, and Steve socks Bucky hard in the arm when he cracks a joke about carrying Steve over the threshold, though he can’t help but laugh, too. “Who would’ve thought we’d see the day two fellas get married, huh?” he chuckles once the door’s securely closed behind them. “I hope you’re not expecting me to make you some huge fancy dinner tonight.”

"'Course not," Bucky laughs. "But maybe I'll make you one." He meanders into the kitchen, knowing before he asks that the pickings are meagre. "What do you feel like?"

"Whatever's easiest," Steve answers, heading for the couch to sprawl across it. "I'm starving."

"Soup?" Bucky suggests, peering into their cupboards. "Soup on a sandwich?"

Steve laughs. "How about soup with some toast?"

Bucky brightens. "I think we can manage that."

"Let me know if you have trouble with the toaster again," Steve teases. "I know all of those knobs confuse you."

"Shut your mouth, or you can do it your damn self!"

Steve snickers, but then falls quiet, listening with a slight, almost melancholy smile on his face. It won't be long before he won't have this for who knows how long. This easy banter, sharing a space with someone who knows every part of him better than anyone else. He'll miss it, when Bucky gets his orders. 

When Bucky brings over two bowls and a plate with some toast, Steve doesn't even bother trying to fight the shit-eating grin on his face. "Thank you, _dear,_ " he simpers, reaching for the bowl Bucky holds out, snatching it before he can pull it away. 

Bucky makes a kissy face at him and flops onto the sofa beside Steve. "You're welcome, _sugar_." He dunks some toast into his soup and rips a chunk off with his teeth, chewing obnoxiously. "This how you always wanted to spend your wedding night?"

"Oh yeah," Steve deadpan. "Eating soup and bread with my barn-raised boar of a husband sitting next to me, chewing with his mouth open. I'm really living the dream, now."

Bucky just grins. "Whatever," he says, "you fuckin' adore me."

Steve reaches out and shoves Bucky. "Still not letting you into my bed tonight, though," he laughs. 

"Good," Bucky shoots back. "Your feet are freezing."

"Says the man who snores like a goddamn freight train," Steve retorts. "Its a wonder I can get _any_ sleep some nights."

"I regret everything," Bucky tells him. "We'll file for an annulment in the morning. Starve after I get blown sky high, see if I care."

Steve sticks his tongue out at Bucky before returning his attention to his soup. "You'd come back as a ghost and haunt me; honestly, you're worse than a damn bloodhound. I swear I could drop you off the side of a mountain and you'll still find your way back when I get into trouble."

Bucky just shrugs. "What can I say? I'm quite attached to you."

"Legally, too, now," Steve says, his voice too light for the weight he feels just behind his heart - the weight he’s felt since Bucky got drafted. "You regretting it yet? Picking me to defend in the yard all those years ago?"

Bucky turns to him with a smile on his lips that quickly becomes a frown when he sees the look in Steve's eyes. "Stevie, no," he says. "Best thing I ever did." He reaches over, gives Steve a light shove. "Jesus."

Steve shrugs. "I've been a lot of trouble to you, I know," he says, matter-of-fact. 

"Shut up," Bucky tells him. "You're not trouble. You're a pain in my ass sometimes, sure, but you're the best damn guy I know."

Steve smiles, then. "Well, glad someone thinks so."

Bucky rolls his eyes, and gives Steve another shove for good measure.

* * *

It's barely a month later when Bucky strolls into the alley out back of the local theatre, feeling sharp in his brand new Sergeant's uniform, and finds Steve getting the snot kicked out of him. Bucky drags the guy off of him and sends him scurrying back onto the street, takes in Steve's bruised cheek and bloody lip and helps him up, smiles and assures Steve that he knows Steve had the guy on the ropes, all without breaking a sweat. It's nothing he hasn't done a thousand times, after all. But when he scoops up the piece of paper that must have fallen out of Steve's pocket, when he smooths it out to give it back to him, when he sees exactly what it is - he sweats then.

His gaze flies first to the top of the form - _please let it be the other guy's, please_ \- and then straight to the bottom, but even sight of the rejection stamp doesn't calm him. He feels like he did last winter when Steve got so bad Doctor Jackson told him to prepare for the worst.

He looks up at Steve, who at least has the sense to look sheepish. "Paramus?" he demands. "How many of these have you filled out?"

Steve shrugs. "Three."

"Are you _insane?_ " Bucky waves the form in his already-bruising face. "You can be arrested for lying on these things!"

"It's not like I'm trying to enlist in the actual army," Steve complains. "I just want to get out there and help. I'm trying to join the medical teams, they can use anyone they can get."

"But I bet you would try the army if you thought you had even half a chance, right?" Bucky hisses. "God, Steve, I can't believe you. You get over there, some crazy bastard decides to take you, what then? You get sick. You die. And until then, you have to pretend every day to be something you're not. _Why?_ "

"Yeah, I would try to get into the army if I thought they'd take me," Steve snaps, glaring at Bucky. "Because this war, it's gonna take a lot of effort to win, Buck. The country needs every bit of help they can get, and I got no right to try to do any less than the rest of the people out there _dying._ "

"Stop it," Bucky snaps. "You got every right, Steve. Your own body tries to kill you on a regular basis, you got no business letting some Germans have a crack, too. We don't need you out there."

Steve glares some more before he sighs, gesturing to Bucky's outfit. "'We'? So you got your orders, then?"

"Yeah." Bucky hates himself for the note of pride in his voice, however small. "Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th."

Steve nods, makes himself smile. "Congratulations. You going out to celebrate?"

Bucky knows what Steve isn't saying, but it's his last night. He doesn't want them to spend it sore at each other. "If you're up to it," he says. "Found us a coupla gals, thought we could check out the Stark Expo."

"Yeah, sure," Steve replies. "Heard Stark himself has some big presentation he wants to make."

Bucky brightens considerably. "Then let's get you cleaned up and we can go," he says. He loops an arm around Steve's shoulders and guides him out of the alley. "And no more trying to get out to Europe, okay? Promise me."

Steve grumbles. "I promise."

* * *

The girls - predictably - show no interest in Steve(not that he tries terribly hard to hold their interest), and while Bucky is distracted by Howard Stark’s flying car prototype, Steve sneaks away. He’s not going to try to get enrolled again, he reasons with himself when his conscience reminds him of his promise from only hours before. He just... wants to go look. See if he can hear some news, maybe, from the front. It’s a moot point; Bucky finds him before Steve gets any further than the little inspirational ‘see yourself in the soldier’s shoes’ display. “I wasn’t going into the office,” Steve says promptly, as soon as he catches sight of Bucky’s downturned mouth. 

Bucky's expression doesn't change. "Sure," he says. "Just here to daydream about being a soldier, right? You gotta put this shit out of your head."

Steve sighs. "I don't want to fight about this again," he says, arms crossing over his chest. Neither of them notice the grey-haired man inching closer, clearly interested in their conversation. "Not the night before you're going to leave."

Bucky sighs, stuffs his hands into his pockets. "What do you want, then?"

"The war to be over? You not drafted?" Steve shrugs again. "Either way, it doesn't matter. It's not going to happen anytime soon."

"I'll get back before you know it," Bucky tells him. "But you promised to be here when I do."

"Only as long as you promised not to worry about me being here by myself," Steve reminds him. 

"I'm not. I'm worried about you making it out there, or winding up in prison."

"Well, I promise I'm not going to go looking to get over there," Steve says. "Shouldn't you be looking after the girls? I bet they're missing your company." 

Bucky sighs. "You're not staying, are you?"

Steve shrugs. "They're not interested in me, and it's... been a long day."

"I could ditch 'em," Bucky offers. "Walk you home?"

Steve waves him away. "Nah, get out of here, go entertain the gals. I might wander around a little more before heading home."

Bucky doesn't like that, but he knows a losing battle when he sees one. Instead, he sweeps Steve into a tight hug. "Don't do anything stupid 'til I get back, okay?"

Steve returns the hug easily, if tightly. "How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you, jerk."

Bucky closes his eyes, squeezes Steve just a little tighter. "Punk," he murmurs, and pulls away. "I'll see you when I get back."

They both turn and walk away without saying anything else, because it'll just get messy if they don't. When Steve feels a warm hand on his bony shoulder a few moments later, though, he still turns expecting Bucky. It's not.

"Excuse me," the man says, his accent soft, but undeniably German. "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with your friend. I was wondering if I might have a word?"

"Oh," Steve says, a bit dumbly. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Perhaps in here?" the man suggests, already guiding Steve towards the building Bucky just dragged him away from. "Oh, how rude of me. My name is Doctor Erskine. And you are?"

"Steve. Steve Rogers," he answers, allowing himself to be guided for now, though he does make sure to note down the route they're taking. 

Erskine hums, and directs Steve into a room with a desk, a few chairs, and an examination table. He gestures for Steve to sit, and peers at him pointedly over his glasses. "A relative of Stephanie Rogers, perhaps? I believe her married name is Barnes."

It's not subtle at all, and Steve curses himself for it, but he freezes. "Um." 

"Yes," Erskine says, "I thought so." He picks up some papers on the desk, looks through them briefly. "You've been applying to become part of the medical staff destined for Europe, yes? Several times. But you keep being rejected because of your various health conditions." He smiles. "You would prefer, I assume, to join the military?"

Steve eyeing him warily. "Yes," he admits. "But if I can't even get accepted into medical..."

"Ah." Erskine holds up a hand. "Stephanie Barnes cannot get accepted into medical. Steve Rogers could absolutely get accepted into the military - with my help."

Wariness turns into outright suspicion, and Steve's eyes narrow. "What's the catch?" he asks. 

Erskine sighs. "That I can guarantee nothing. My offer is of a placement on the program I am running in the hopes of finding the ideal candidate for an experiment which should, within theory, help us to win the war. If you are not selected for this experiment, you will never see a battlefield."

Steve doesn't say anything for several long moments wrestling with himself - but then he nods. "A chance is better than, well, nothing," he decides. "I'll do it."

Erskine smiles. "I hoped you would say that."

* * *

The next two months are the hardest of Steve's life, but also the best. He's picked on, made fun of for his small size - but that's nothing he hasn't already experienced. Being here, in the middle of basic, means none of the other guys even consider that he's any different from them. He's pushed far beyond anything else he's ever done, but he completes each challenge laid before him. 

Erskine introduces him to the woman in charge of overseeing their training, an SSR agent named Peggy Carter. He tells Steve that she's trustworthy, discreet, and the two of them quickly become fast friends. Peggy doesn't treat him any differently than any other recruit during training, which Steve is grateful for. It means that, at the end of the two months, he can go to her with excited nervous butterflies in his stomach, and not angry ones. 

"Erskine just told me the news: I've been chosen for the project."

"Really." Peggy's eyes are twinkling, and Steve gets the impression that this isn't news to her. "He couldn't have picked a better man. Well done, Steve."

Steve flushes. "Thanks. I just - I'm excited. Nervous, too. Probably more than I am excited."

Peggy smiles. "Erskine told you what it does, this serum?"

"He says it enhances what's already there, that it's supposed to help with my health, too, but..." Here, Steve shrugs, looking down and to the side. "What if it enhances the wrong things?"

Peggy's gaze softens. "You mean, certain biological things?"

"Yeah," Steve admits. 

"Steve," Peggy says, clearly choosing her words carefully, "this thing doesn't just target the physical aspects of a person. Did Erskine tell you about the first person to have the serum administered?"

"He said it went badly. The guy came out like some monster from a fairy tale."

"Because he himself was evil, yes? The serum targets the very depth of a person, and amplifies it. You are Steve Rogers at your core; that won't change."

Steve chuckles. "You sound so sure."

"I'm not suggesting the serum will change your biology," Peggy warns him. "But I really doubt that you will find it any more difficult to present yourself the way you want to afterwards than you do now. You're a good man, Steve. What else could the serum find?"

"If it'll make it so I don't have to start worrying the second there's the least little nip to the breeze, I'll be happy," Steve promises her. "But, still - thank you. It means a lot, coming from you. That you think that nothing will really change."

Peggy reaches over and pats his knee. "When is the procedure?" she asks.

"Two days," Steve says, a grin on his face. "Feels like short notice, but apparently the senator or whoever that's going to watch is flying out of the state the day after."

"I'd like to be there," Peggy tells him, "if you don't mind?"

"I'd love for you to be there," Steve says with a slight laugh. "At least there'll be two people who aren't major skeptics."

Peggy grins. "Come on," she says. "I think this calls for a celebratory drink."

Steve's grin grows to match hers. "I think that sounds like a great idea."

* * *

They have their drink, along with some more conversation, and then they go their separate ways. Steve doesn't see Peggy - though he does see Erskine - the day before the surgery, and they ride back to New York together, Steve pointing out each alley and parking lot he got beat up in, once upon a time. There's a lot of them. 

The procedure goes off without a hitch, but just as they're ready to start celebrating, before Steve can catalogue anything about his new body other than the extra height, Erskine is assassinated, and Steve's tearing off after the murderer. He doesn't learn anything useful beyond a phrase - 'Hail Hydra' - that still tells him next to nothing, though it apparently means something to Colonel Phillips and the senator he's with. Colonel Phillips shoots down Steve's request to go to the front, so Steve reluctantly accepts the offer of a job doing promotional work, encouraging the people of the United States to buy bonds.

Peggy finds him in an abandoned office later, as Steve's trying to process everything that's happened in the past few hours. "You know," he says, as soon as he realizes that it's Peggy who's come through the door, "I thought this serum would change my life, just... not this drastically."

Peggy has little to offer except a sympathetic smile. She sits down beside him and rests a hand on his knee. "You know," she says lightly, "I didn't get a chance to say it earlier, but you look lovely, Steve."

Steve snorts, glancing down at his still-modest chest. "At least that went right. I don't think it will be any harder to be Steve Rogers than it was before. This... _Captain America_ persona the senator wants, that might be more difficult. I don't really look like someone out of Hollywood, or a comic book."

"And you'd rather be out there, like everyone else?" Peggy guesses.

"That, too," Steve concedes. "But he wants me to _perform._ How well is everything I do going to hold up through meeting and actually interacting with hundreds, maybe thousands of people?"

Peggy sighs. "What makes you think it won't?" she asks. "It's held up this far, hasn't it?"

"Yeah, but that was me just living my life. This will be me meeting and interacting with more people in a week than I usually do in a year," Steve says, glancing down at where his hands are clasped in his lap. "That's a lot more chances for something to go wrong."

"You're not planning on inviting any of these people back to your dressing room, are you?" Peggy asks, a hint of a smile on her lips. "What do you think they're going to see?"

Steve flushes. "No, of course not. But they're still going to get closer than anyone else in a long time, who didn't already know."

"You could back out," Peggy suggests. "Erskine's dead, and Phillips clearly doesn't want to use you as a soldier. You could easily leave all of this behind, go back to your old life. But." She tilts her head, considering him. "Something tells me that's not who you are."

Steve shakes his head. "No. No, I said I'd do this. I want to help, and I'd be a lot happier out on the front, but for right now, this is where I can help." 

"Then do it," Peggy tells him. "Everyone who needs to knows the truth. If something goes wrong, they'll handle it."

Steve considers that for a moment, then nods. "Alright. Thanks, for listening and the advice."

Peggy smiles at him. "Of course, love."

* * *

Steve isn't the only one trying to talk himself down from his second thoughts. Over in Europe, Bucky is drowning. He's drowning in mud, in sweat, in fear, in the smell of rotting flesh. He thought he'd prepared himself for every worst case scenario, but even his wildest nightmares couldn't prepare him for the reality. He hates every second of it, hates even more what it's turning him into - a cold-blooded killer, ruthless, determined, _efficient_. And he hates how alone he feels, even surrounded by a hundred of their very best men.

He hasn't had a letter from Steve in months. His mother, in her letters, assures him that she would know if he were dead, even though she hasn't seen him since just after Bucky himself shipped out. But if that's true, if Steve is alive, then where is he? Why doesn't he write? Bucky dreams that Steve got jumped on the way home from the Expo, his body thrown carelessly into the river; he dreams that Steve tried again to get himself over here and wound up arrested, or worse; he dreams that Steve resents him enough for joining the army, for forcing him into a dress and humiliating him in that church, that he's just washed his hands of Bucky and his family altogether; he dreams that Steve is confined to the apartment, sick, dying, already dead. Bucky _hates_ that he's trapped overseas and that he doesn't _know_.

But then, just over a year after he left Steve and his ma and Brooklyn behind, he finds that he has far more pressing things to hate. Those good men he can't bring himself to feel comfortable around, they die. They _disintegrate_ right before his eyes in stark flashes of blue light and horrible, cut-off screams. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th can't do anything to protect his own men, can't do anything at all except wait to meet the same fate - and then...

And then.

Screaming, sobbing, begging; cold, heat, agony, a thousand pin pricks all over his body, the beating of his life; rest, sleep, delirium, hallucinations; bright lights, shouting, questions in German and English; another beating, more needles, more screaming. Over and over again.

And through it all: "Barnes, Sergeant. 32557038. Barnes, Sergeant. 32557038."

And then.

" _Bucky,_ " Steve breathes, partly from exertion and partly from awe. Then again, louder. "Bucky!" He dashes to the side of the godawful table that his best friend is strapped to, all but rips the leather cuffs apart. "Thank God, you're alive."

Bucky lets himself be dragged upright, already prepared for this manifestation to vanish before his eyes in an instant - but he's never imagined anything quite like this before. "Steve?" he rasps.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me," Steve says, grinning despite the horrors he knows are on the side of these walls. 

"What--" Bucky can't quite focus on Steve's face, but he knows it never used to be quite that high up. "How?"

"I joined the army," Steve says flippantly. "C'mon, can you walk?"

Bucky's feet haven't touched the ground since he got here. "Yeah," he says. "Come on."

Steve doesn't quite believe him, but what other choice do they have? So Steve hauls one arm up and over his shoulders, helping Bucky as best he can. "This way."

* * *

It's only later - much later, after that red-faced monster of a man and that tiny twisted _fuck_ of a doctor have gotten away and he and Steve have escaped with what's left of his men - that Bucky thinks to stop, to demand, "What the hell happened, Steve?"

Steve glances around, makes sure no one can hear, and then answers. "I met a scientist, Dr. Erskine. He offered me a place in an experimental program that was designed to create better soldiers by enhancing regular men."

"And he picked you?" Bucky asks. "What did he do to you?"

"There was this machine," Steve says; he's still not clear on the specifics of the science behind his miraculous transformation. "I was injected with a serum, and the machine activated it. I'm healthy, now. Heal faster, don't have to worry about getting sick every couple of weeks. Got a bit taller, too, obviously." This last is said with a nervous smile. 

Bucky gives him a _no shit_ look and shakes his head. "How... how did you even get picked?"

"Erskine was in charge of it, and he wasn't looking for 'good soldiers,' as he put it. He said he was looking for good men."

Bucky rolls his eyes, gives Steve a shove. "Well, he found the best one in the whole country," he says. "Shame you're also the dumbest."

Steve grins. "He never said he was looking for smarts," he laughs. "But I didn't go looking for him. He came to me. He, uh, overheard our conversation. At the expo."

Bucky's stomach twists. "So it's my fault."

" _No,_ " Steve says forcefully. "He approached me, offered me a place in his program, explained what it was, but _I_ accepted. This isn't your fault in any way, Bucky."

Bucky could argue, but he honestly doesn't have the energy. He looks away, shakes his head, and then gestures to Steve's general physique. "So what else is different?" he asks. "You look..."

"I'm taller, a little broader, and more muscle mass," Steve answers. "But everything else is the same. Erskine entered me into the program as Steve Rogers, so that's what's on every form. That's who everyone knows me as."

"And no one knows?" Bucky asks, his gaze sharp.

"Peggy Carter does. Erskine did, obviously, but no one else."

Bucky nods. Steve looks different now, sure, but he still looks like he should. If anything, he looks better. "You doing okay?" he asks.

"Better. The first while was hard. One of the senators who was at the procedure that gave me the serum asked me to do a promotional tour thing. Dressed up like a dancing monkey, had a whole act," Steve laughs. "Even punched out Hitler over two hundred times."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Sounds exciting."

"Nerve-wracking, more like," Steve corrects. "There were also interviews, and meeting people after each show for _hours._ "

Bucky can see why that could cause some problems. "Any of 'em rumble you?" he asks.

Steve shakes his head. "I don't think so."

"Good," Bucky says. "That's really good."

Steve's mouth twitches before it smooths out. "How are you holding up?"

Bucky manages some twisted version of a smile. "Ah, you know me," he says.

"I do," Steve says, "which is why I'm worried. Just remember I'm here if you need anything, okay?"

"Yeah," Bucky sighs. "You got it, Stevie."

* * *

They don't talk much for the rest of the walk back to base; Steve is too busy checking in everyone else and running perimeter to keep watch, and Bucky is too busy making sure his feet go where he wants them to. When they finally reach camp, there's medical checks for the rescued soldiers before they celebrate their freedom at the closest bar. Steve finds a group of them - a group he'd noticed on the trek back as a take-charge, skilled independent group of guys - and makes his proposal. They look at him like he's crazy, but they must be crazy too, because they agree to join his team. 

Steve finds Bucky sitting by himself, staring into his glass like he's seeing something else besides his reflection in it, and makes the same proposal. Bucky scoffs when he calls himself Captain America, but accepts anyway. There's something off, half-hearted about the way he tries to flirt with Peggy, who looks Steve in the eye as she echoes what he'd told her that day so long ago in the cab to Erskine's laboratory. 

Steve doesn't leave with Peggy, though; he stays with Bucky, puts up with his ribbing about the frankly ridiculous 'uniform,' and though Steve can't get drunk, he matches Bucky drink for drink and is pleasantly warm as they head back for base. They don't talk until they're getting ready to pass by Steve's quarters, where they go their separate ways, but Steve can't stand the thought of that, suddenly. "Do you want to stay here?" comes out, words tripping off of his tongue with no hint of subtlety. 

"Yeah," Bucky says, before he can stop himself. He grins at Steve. "Just like old times, huh?"

"Except I've only got one bed," Steve muses. "You don't mind sharing, do you?"

And jeez, Bucky must be really drunk, because he just shrugs and says, "Not like we've never shared before. Might be a bit more difficult now, though."

"I do take up a bit more space," Steve agrees, beaming. "C'mon, then."

So Bucky follows Steve, and they manage to contort themselves until they both fit somewhat comfortably onto Steve's bed, and they fall asleep. Bucky expects the alcohol to let him sleep, to let him wake up in the morning, sore and grumpy but otherwise fine. He's wrong.

He wakes up screaming, throws himself out of bed and is across the room, splashing his face with ice-cold water and dragging in heaving, desperate breaths before he remembers he's not alone. "Fuck," he gasps. "Fuck, Steve."

Steve hovers nearby, looking at Bucky with worried eyes. "Buck? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Bucky rasps. "I'm fine. Go back to bed."

"Bucky, you got up and across that room faster than I can blink," Steve says gently. "You woke up _screaming._ That's not 'fine.'"Bucky shakes his head. He still can't look at Steve. "It'll pass."

"Anything I can do to help?" Steve asks, a bit tentative.

Bucky sighs. He knows from experience that Steve isn't going to just let this drop. "Talk to me," he says. "About something else."

"Did I tell you about the first time they introduced Hitler into my little stage routine?"

"No," Bucky huffs. "Do tell."

"So, this fella, Charles, is just nice as can be. He's only signed on for a couple of performances, making some money while we're in the city. So all he has to do is creep behind the line of chorus girls as I'm giving my speech, then pop out and wave a fake pistol in my face. I then turn around and fake punch him, he falls to the ground, and the audience cheers. Sounds easy enough, right?"

"Yeah," Bucky says. "Right."

"Rehearsals go well, we both hit our marks spot on so I don't actually hit him, and then we go on stage for the actual performance. Theater's packed, couple hundred people watching, and we go through the song with no problems. I start my speech, all the kids are yelling as Charles starts moving around, and... Well, I missed my mark, so I was standing a few too many inches back, and he got over-excited and jumped too far forward. I punched the poor bastard right in the nose, and broke it."

Bucky's laugh is strangled and raw, but it's a laugh. "Christ," he says. "Trust you, Steve."

"Right?" Steve chuckles. "I was already pulling my punch since I was only supposed to _look_ like I hit him, but I was also still adjusting to the new strength. He was a good sport about it, though. Laughed it off, took some extra money for the inconvenience and the night off, but he was back the next night for another performance, just with a bit more makeup."

"Wow," Bucky says. He's starting to sound a little more like himself. "Decent fella, then."

"Too decent to play Hitler," Steve agrees. "We were both real careful of our marks after that."

They both fall silent then, save for Bucky's ragged breathing. His hands start shaking again after a few minutes. "Keep talking," he gasps. "Tell me about... about that dame tonight. Carter."

“Peggy? She’s one of the people I told you about, that knows about me. About my body. She’s real nice, smart as a whip, and tough as nails. First day in basic, she laid a guy out flat with one punch when he was complaining about our training being overseen by a woman.”

Bucky's laugh is more genuine this time. "She sounds like a riot," he says. He takes a breath and adds, "She likes you."

"Well, I am pretty great," Steve jokes, but he's already turning red. "I like her, too. Don't get to see her too often, though."

"You could change that, though," Bucky points out. "She seemed pretty keen tonight."

Steve turns an even brighter red. "Maybe. I don't know anything about doing that, though. And now that we're going after Hydra..."

Bucky shakes his head. "You haven't seen anything yet, Steve," he tells him. "You should grab onto whatever happiness you can."

Steve shrugs. "I've got a job to do. I've never been good at multitasking, you know that."

Bucky rolls his eyes, finally turns to look at Steve and even manages a smile. "Just try to make some time for the gal, okay?"

"I will," Steve says with a laugh. He studies Bucky, takes in the difference in his stance, the way he no longer looks like he's about to break apart if he so much as breathes too hard, and tentatively asks, "You feeling better now?"

Bucky sighs. "Yeah," he says. "Thanks. I should probably go back to my own bed."

"Its the middle of the night," Steve points out. "If you want to stay, I don't mind."

"I'll just wake you again," Bucky tells him.

"But you won't have to be alone," Steve answers. "How many times did I wake you up coughing up a lung each winter? I can finally take care of you, too, Buck."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Are you going to take no for an answer?"

"If you really would rather be alone," Steve says, though he's clearly reluctant to. "But you're my best friend. We're supposed to be there for each other."

"You're insufferable," Bucky huffs. "Fine. But you've been warned."

Steve grins. "I think I can live with being insufferable. C'mon, get back over here."

* * *

Their first mission goes well, without too many complications; there was some minor miscommunications, but nothing that couldn't be solved with a bit of quick thinking. They're sabotaging a supply caravan, testing the waters and making sure they can actually work together before they go after bigger fish. Steve can't help but laugh at Dernier's unholy glee at getting to blow up the lead truck, and in the ensuing chaos, it's easy to pick off the rest of the Hydra soldiers. Whichever ones are knocked unconscious, they truss up and radio in the location for another team to take them into custody. 

The next couple of missions gradually ramp up in intensity, and Steve's honestly glad that the soldiers they fought today put up as much of a fight as they did. It means he's got an excuse to walk a little more carefully around camp than he usually does, able to claim that he took a few more hits than usual, so he's a bit tender. It earns him some ribbing from the rest of the group, but Steve doesn't miss the way Bucky's eyebrow raises in question, and he nods in answer, getting a fleeting, sympathetic look from Bucky in return.

In order to save space, since they don't have the luxury of a vehicle on every mission, they sleep two to a tent; Steve and Bucky share one due to their ranks, and Steve's never been more glad of it. When he enters the tent and sees Bucky already waiting for him, he can't help but let out a quiet groan. "You know, the one thing I don't like about this serum is that it means I - what was the word the doctors used - metabolize medicine too quickly for it to really be effective," he mutters as he drops onto his roll, scooting over until his leg's pressed against Bucky's, the closest contact he dares while they're out in the field.

Bucky makes a sympathetic noise. "You hurtin'?" he asks, his voice low.

Steve nods. "Same as always. Least I don't have to worry about the anemia now, though. Doesn't really make up for the pain."

"You want me to rub your back?" Bucky offers.

Steve hesitates, but the temptation of Bucky’s hands soothing away even a little of the pain is too much to resist. “Yes, please,” he sighs.

"Come on," Bucky says, sitting up. "Roll over. No one needs a grumpy Cap."

The massage works wonders, just as it always does; Steve’s able to sleep until it’s time for his and Bucky’s watch, and by the time the rest of the Howlies are up for the day, Steve’s gotten another back rub. He’s feeling a bit better, and he doesn’t realize that he’s all but laying on Bucky until Dum Dum says, “So, who stitched your britches together?”

Steve makes to sit up, but Bucky stops him with an arm across his chest. "Shove off," he says lightly. "He took some bad hits for us yesterday, and I don't see any of you ungrateful bastards offering."

Dum Dum laughs. "Because he just gravitates right to you, like you lassoed him in one of those stupid Western movies."

"Seems like he forgets we exist half the time," Morita adds, the glint in his eyes and lilt of his voice making it clear he's just teasing. That doesn't stop Steve from flushing. 

"You're a bunch of bastards; why did I pick you for my team again?" he complains. "Quit making fun of the walking bruise and go make yourselves useful, like Falsworth is doing."

"Yes," Falsworth calls over his shoulder. "Leave the good captain in peace. He'll be like a bear with a sore head if you keep badgering him."

Bucky laughs. "He knows you well."

Steve sticks his tongue out at Bucky. "Either that or he's been talking to you too much."

Bucky grins and settles Steve more comfortably against him. "I'm admitting nothing," he says.

Steve laughs, but it's fond, and he misses the way the rest of the Howlies exchange looks and eyerolls, too busy sticking his tongue out at Bucky. 

* * *

"Fuck," Bucky mutters, and sits up. This is the third time tonight that Steve has shaken him awake, the third time that Bucky has woken Steve first, screaming and lashing out at phantoms that don't exist, not anymore. Not yet. " _Fuck._ " Bucky pushes a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, shrugs out from under Steve's touch. "I'm sorry. I'm just gonna tell Dugan to get some sleep and take over his watch."

"I'll come with you," Steve says immediately. "I'll stay quiet, if that's what you need."

Bucky shakes his head. "I don't," he says. "But you should stay here. No need for you to lose any more sleep."

"It's almost morning now," Steve reasons. "We'd be getting up for our watch in an hour or so anyway."

Bucky huffs, but he looks relieved. "Fine."

Steve gives him a small smile, passing a hand over his back in a light, reassuring touch as they leave the tent. Dugan is understanding when he spots both Steve and Bucky up an hour before they need to be, and doesn't kick up a fuss. He doesn't even tease them, and Steve's privately grateful for that; he’s never liked being teased so soon after nightmares, when he’s still trying to remember he's awake. For Bucky, waking up from the things that make him scream, Steve imagines it's so much worse. 

They do a perimeter check first, each walking a complete circuit in the opposite direction before they settle side by side on a fallen log. "Same thing as always?" Steve asks, voice quiet as he watches the forest surrounding them, listening for anything out of the ordinary. 

Bucky shrugs, then shakes his head. "Some," he admits. "But other stuff, too."

Steve makes a sympathetic noise. "Worried about tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Bucky blows out a long breath. "Maybe if I help throw the guy behind bars, he'll finally leave me alone."

"I'll let you lock the door," Steve promises. "And maybe chuck the key in a furnace for good measure. This has been a long time coming for him, and I'm not about to let that bastard get away."

Bucky smiles. "It's not just him, though."

"Yeah?" Steve asks, encouraging. 

"Hydra..." Bucky shudders. "They have weapons we've never seen before. Things we're not even dreaming of yet. We can drag Zola off this train, sure. But when we really go up against them? I don't think we have a chance."

"Maybe, maybe not," Steve says. "But I'm not going to turn my back on that fight. They have horrible, powerful weapons, sure. But _men_ are wielding those weapons. People. And people can be beaten and outsmarted."

"Not if you fuckin' disintegrate the moment they look at you," Bucky mutters darkly.

"That's what I have the shield for," Steve points out. "I make sure I'm the only one they're looking at so that they never see any of you coming." He reaches out, lays his hand on Bucky's knee and gives a gentle squeeze. "I know this is dangerous, and I know what I just said are just words. But we've lasted this long, haven't we? There's more and more people rallying behind the Howling Commandos every day, more and more people who are coming over here to kick Hydra in the teeth, or who are doing it from home by supporting us and refusing to let their neighbors behave the same way that Hydra and the Nazis do."

Bucky clasps his own hands loosely in the space between his knees to hide the way they're shaking. "It's a lot, Steve," he says. "We're all good guys, and we all want to beat these assholes. That doesn't mean we can."

Steve moves his hand so he can let his fingers rest against Bucky's wrist, dropping down until he's covered Bucky's hands with his own. "I think 'want' has an awful lot to do with this. Can't make something happen if we don't want it. Only question is, how badly do we want it, and how many of us want it that badly?"

Bucky's laugh is a little wet. "Never change, Stevie, okay? God."

Steve smiles, leaning over to bump Bucky's shoulder with his. "I'll do my best not to. You'll have to just stick around, make sure it doesn't happen. Send me letters if you ever decide you want out of the front lines, keep me honest."

Bucky shakes his head. "Nah," he says. "Knew it from the moment I got out here. The only way I'm going home is in a casket."

"No," Steve says sharply. "That's not true. You and me, Buck, neither of us is gonna go home in a box."

"We'll see, pal," is all Bucky can bring himself to say. "Let me get through tomorrow first."

Well, there's not a whole lot that Steve can say to that, so all he does is give Bucky's hand another squeeze before they lapse into silence.

* * *

Bucky was partially right. He doesn't go home in a box. 

He doesn't go home at all. 

Steve isn't ashamed to say he loses himself, a bit, after Bucky's gone. If it weren't for Peggy and the Howlies, he'd lose himself completely. He throws himself into tracking down the rest of Hydra with single-minded determination, culminating in the last mission he thinks he'll ever go on. 

Like Bucky, Steve's only partly right. Its the last mission he goes on in this war, but two weeks after he wakes up in a whole new century, he fights in another. His 'teammates' aren't a team so much as a group of people working towards a common goal, but he thinks - all things considered - they did alright. He's even learned to tolerate some of them.

Tolerating Tony is still a work in progress, though; especially when, while Steve's at the training room in SHIELD headquarters, working out while testing out this wonderful new thing called a 'binder' that was easier and much safer to use, Tony just barges in without a by-your-leave and starts spouting off at the mouth. Steve only half pays attention to what seems to be a monologue about something Steve missed while he was asleep as he carefully puts his equipment away, eventually interrupting Tony mid-sentence to say, "Stark, I'm sure whatever you're talking about is fascinating, but why do you want to talk to _me_ about it? I haven't had a chance to start catching up on news and history yet."

"Exactly," Tony says, "which is why I have the honour of updating you. They let women in the army now, y'know. As in, they're allowed to fight. And lead."

Steve does smile at that. "Well, good for them," he says, pleased. "About damn time."

Tony blinks. "That's it? Good for _them?_ "

"Yes? What else should I say?" Steve asks, confused. "Women are citizens, too. If they want to fight for their country, they should be able to."

"But what about you?" Stark asks. "This is so confusing. You don't have to hide anymore!"

Steve's eyes narrow as a thought occurs to him. "And what, exactly, do you think I'm hiding?"

"Cap," Tony says. "Stephanie. Come on. We all know."

The narrowed eyes turn into an outright glare. "My _name_ is Steve, and I am _not_ a woman. Yes, I have a uterus. Yes, I have breasts, and I was born Stephanie Rogers, but I was never _her._ "

Tony blinks. "This doesn't make any sense," he says. "You _weren't_ married to Barnes?"

Steve sighs, shoulders slumping. "Bucky and I got married, yeah. He came back from basic training for a little bit before being deployed, and was worried about me being left alone if he died. I was always sick, and scrawny, so I couldn't work too hard. He reasoned that I'd be entitled to part of his salary while he was overseas, and if he died, I'd get... compensation. Course, I got approached by Erskine the night before Bucky left, so that ended up being a moot point, the first bit."

"Okay," Tony says, "this doesn't make _any_ sense. I think you'd better sit down and start from the beginning."

Steve takes a deep breath, then leads Tony over to a couple of chairs by a water cooler. "Bucky and I were friends for most of our lives, but he always knew and accepted that I was different from my body. He didn't care, even helped me look more like Steve than Stephanie after I hit puberty. We lived together for a couple of years, and after he got drafted and came back from basic, we got married. We weren't in love, never had sex or anything, it was mostly to try to keep him from worrying too much about me while he was deployed. But there was this doctor, Erskine, who overheard an argument Bucky and I had the night before we left. He told me that Stephanie Barnes couldn't help even in medical, but that Steve Rogers could join a program that he was in charge of." Steve has to take a moment to flex his fingers, trying to stop the shaking in his hands; when that doesn't work, he clasps them together before continuing. "I was chosen for Project Rebirth's first trial. It worked, and Steve Rogers was made into Captain America."

"Christ," Tony breathes. "Okay. But you _are_ Steve? This isn't a choice you made based on necessity or anything?"

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Would I have _chosen_ to make my life more difficult on the playground and in church? I've been Steve for as long as I can remember."

Tony's gaze raises heavenward. "I am the last person to explain this to you," he says. "Steve, no one knows that."

"What do you mean?"

Tony takes a breath. "Okay, first of all I should probably provide a general update. That sounds useful, right? So, first off, it wouldn't matter if you and Barnes had been in love. Gay is totally legal now. Gay marriage, not so much, although it is here in New York. Yay! Secondly, the whole being born in the wrong body thing? Has a name. It's called being transgender. Did they have that back then? I should probably know more about this, but I did say I'm not qualified to have this conversation with you."

Steve files that word - _transgender_ \- away for later research. "If they did, I never found it," he says. "Bucky was the one who liked to go out and be social. I didn't talk to more people than I really had to."

"Well, okay, there you go. You are trans. There's loads of things available to help people transition - um, become more like the gender they identify as, I guess? Like surgery, and hormones, and legal name and gender changes. I think they even change your birth certificate. How cool is that? Anyway." Tony takes another breath. "The point is that no one knows that word applies to you. History... portrays you as a woman."

Steve blinks once, then twice. "What."

"Someone found out, somewhere along the line," Tony tells him. "Did some digging and found out that Steve Rogers and Stephanie Barnes were the same person. This was sometime in the sixties, I think? I guess maybe today the trans thing would be considered as a possibility, but back then they decided that you just pretended to be a man so that you could get out there and fight with your husband."

It takes Steve a couple of minutes for that to sink in. "What the _fuck._ And everyone's just completely ignored the fact that Stephanie Barnes was just a name and never a person? That Steve Rogers was the one who was alive and known in Brooklyn for two decades?"

"There's very little record of that," Tony admits. "All documentation, your birth certificate, your medical records and your school records, everything, has Stephanie Rogers written on them. Stephanie Barnes after you got married. And the people who knew you during the war confirmed the theory when it came out."

"But they only ever knew me as Steve," he protests. "How could they confirm anything about Stephanie?"

"They said it made sense, that you and Barnes were always all over each other and that they always suspected there was something between you. If you were actually a woman who was so in love with her husband that she changed her identity to be with him, that was better than the alternative, right?" Tony hesitates. "Were you in love with him?"

Steve shakes his head. "No. Bucky was my best friend - he was family. We'd always been close, but never..." He sighs. "Well, historians got everything wrong. How do I fix it?"

"The world knows you're awake now," Tony points out. "Once again, not an expert, but I'd probably suggest taking some time to get comfortable with your, like, identity again? In light of recent developments in the law and the opportunities that may be available to you now. And then we can set up a press conference and you can come out."

Steve chafes at the thought of waiting, but Tony is probably right. He needs to be as prepared as possible; something tells him that doing this, correcting seventy years' worth of history, is going to take just as much planning as any battle. "Alright," he sighs. "I... might need you to give me a crash course on the new technology, then. SHIELD gave me this tablet-thing, said I could use it to access the Internet, but..." Steve shrugs helplessly. 

Tony grins. "I am absolutely qualified to help you with that," he says. "Do you want to start now?"

Steve's expression turns determined. "Yes. The sooner we get started, the sooner I can tell everyone how wrong they were."

* * *

Steve spends the next few weeks learning everything he can, both about the ways in which the world views him and people like him has changed and the ways in which he has been portrayed in the media and the history books since the mid-1960s. When he's ready, true to his word, Tony sets up a press conference - and Steve addresses the country and the world at large for the first time in almost seventy years.

It goes down about as well as they expected. Steve comes out as both trans and bisexual, and the backlash is phenomenal. Some people claim he's confused, others that he's delusional; some insist that he's blinded by grief for his husband. A lot of people complain that he's been brainwashed by the millennials, which makes Tony laugh for longer than is probably healthy. But louder than those who disapprove, for Steve at least, are the voices of his supporters - especially people like him. Apparently, both trans and bisexual people feel that they are generally underrepresented in the media and largely ignored by society as a whole. Having someone as important and impressive as Captain America in their corner is apparently a huge help, giving some the courage to come out to their families and inspiring others to demand respect from their peers.

That, just as much as personally overseeing the edits being frantically made to all documentation produced about him post-1964, makes it all worth it.

hr>

Two years and change later, Steve ends up in a hospital for the second time in less than three months. The first time, he was the one in the hospital bed, a friend arguing with SHIELD to be let in. Today, he's the one on the other side of the glass, yelling at a SHIELD agent to let him in. He has to (grudgingly) give Agent Carter credit; she isn't intimidated by him in the least, and she's planted herself like a damn tree. Through the window, Steve can see Bucky's tense form, head turning to keep the SHIELD doctors in sight as much as possible. 

This is the third day that Steve's been denied access to the room itself; he's allowed in the hallway outside of the room, but since coming back to New York and to the SHIELD HQ there, Bucky's been kept under observation. Steve's starting to think that running away with Bucky when he'd found Steve in Iowa would have been the better choice than coming back to New York. 

Sharon's crossed her arms, watching Steve with a hard, no-nonsense look, one that reminds Steve of her aunt. It makes part of him ache, but that doesn't stop him from glaring right back - until a thought occurs to him. "You guys have to follow hospital laws in the medical wards, don't you?"

Sharon's look turns suspicious. "Yes," she answers slowly. 

Steve grins, triumphant. "We're married. Bucky isn't a danger to me; he's been placed under observation, but there's been nothing to indicate that he's being aggressive at all, right? So long as no one goes near his arm?"

Sharon curses. "He's the goddamn Winter Soldier - "

"He's my _husband._ I can go call Tony, if you like. I'm sure he and Pepper would be more than happy to get some lawyers interested in why SHIELD is keeping a married couple apart for no legal reason."

"We'd win that fight."

"But it would waste time and resources," Steve points out. "I'm not asking you to let him out, I realize that we have to make sure of what he - and we - are dealing with. All I want is to go in there and talk to him. I don't have the shield with me or anything; it's just me."

Sharon glares some more, but eventually sighs. "Fine, damn you. But only talking, do you understand? I swear to God not even Stark and his fancy suits will be able to help you if you even think about attempting to break Barnes out."

Steve beams. "I understand."

Bucky's gaze snaps to Steve as soon as he walks in, and the look on his face tells Steve what he'd already suspected, that the glass between the room and the hallway only goes one way. "Steve," Bucky rasps. "What?"

Steve gives Bucky a smile. "Hey. They finally let me in to see you."

"But--" Bucky sends a frightened look toward the doctors. "How?"

"I told the guard we're married," Steve answers, moving closer to Bucky so he can lower his voice. "Do you... remember that?"

Bucky hesitates, his eyes wide. He remembers... something. Steve, much smaller, his jaw set with determination, fussing with Becca's skirt like he wanted to rip it right off his body. "Married," he whispers. "We got married."

Steve's smile turns a bit sad. "Yeah. A little bit before you were sent overseas."

"But." Bucky looks panicked again. "But we're _men_ ," he hisses.

"Yeah, we are," Steve says, "but because the law considered me Stephanie Rogers, not Steve Rogers... All I had to do was put on a dress."

"You ain't wearing a dress now," Bucky points out. "How the fuck did you convince them?"

"Because I got my name changed, but that didn't change the fact that in the eyes of the law, since we're both alive, we're still married," Steve explains. "I kept your name, when I got mine changed on the records. I'm Steve Barnes."

"Steve Barnes," Bucky repeats, dazed, and then, "Steve! Are you some kind of idiot?"

"Barnes," one of the doctors warns, voice low. "Calm down or he'll have to leave."

Steve doesn't look at the doctor, but he does his best to keep his tone even as he says, "What are you talking about? I know things were bad back then, but now... It's a lot different. It's not illegal for two guys to be together."

That brings Bucky up short. "What?"

Steve nods. "It's a lot more accepted now than it was," he explained. " And people like me are more accepted, too. The world's changed an awful lot since we've been gone."

"Oh." Bucky looks at the doctors, who have gone back to scribbling on their clipboards and muttering to each other, and then back at Steve. "So you're Steve Barnes now? Legally?"

Steve nods. "Have been for almost two years."

"But you thought I was dead."

Steve nods, glancing down. "Yeah. But I... I came out of the ice, it was only a couple of weeks after you fell. It was too fresh, I wasn't... Wasn't ready to accept it. When I finally went to get my name changed, it just didn't feel right to go back to being Rogers."

Bucky doesn't really know what to do with that, but when Steve looks back up he's smiling. "Steve," he says, reaching out.

A doctor clears his throat. "No touching, Barnes."

Bucky glares at him. "He's my husband."

The other doctor just shrugs. "No touching," she repeats.

Steve glances around, spotting a box of rubber gloves, and he snags a couple, pulling one over his hand and holding the other out to Bucky. "We won't be touching, but it's better than nothing," he reasons, a bit of that troublemaker's smirk showing through. 

Bucky grins, and reaches out to take the glove - but the doctor clears his throat again.

"Captain Barnes," he says, "with all due respect, we will throw you out."

"Oh, come on," Steve wheedles. "One minute? We haven't seen each other for _seventy years_ and I thought he was dead for most of that."

"Sorry," the other doctor says, though she doesn't sound it at all. "We have to keep the patient's best interests in mind."

Bucky bares his teeth at her and turns back to Steve. "Get me out of here," he begs.

Steve sighs. "I'm sorry; I did explicitly promise I wouldn't try to break you out. _But,_ " he adds, giving both doctors significant looks, "I'll be back every day. If they don't treat you _respectfully..._ " He leaves the sentence unfinished. 

Bucky smiles at him, though it's a little weak. "Thanks."

"I can talk to some people," Steve promises. "We'll get you out as soon as we can."

Bucky's smile is a little more genuine after that.

* * *

It takes several months and a lot of fancy footwork, but Steve finally brings Bucky home. The judge who grants Bucky his freedom has several conditions, including Bucky attending mandatory therapy sessions three times a week and being remanded in Steve's custody for the foreseeable future, but they take it. They can't return to Steve's apartment in DC, but they don't have to return to the Tower, either; the judge pushes for it, but Stark steps in, offers to buy a building not ten minutes from the Tower, rehouse all the residents and install Jarvis into a fully-comprehensive mainframe. He throws in a promise of panic buttons in every room and stress sensors that will trigger those panic buttons automatically if Bucky loses it, and the judge can't say no.

So Steve takes Bucky home, to their _own home_ , for the first time in seventy years.

Bucky is shaking by the time they reach their apartment, right at the heart of the building. He thinks he can't be blamed for being overwhelmed; it took Stark all of two days after the ruling to put all of this together, and that's only because he waited for Pepper to get home from a business trip so that she could consult on the decorating. He woke up all of two hours ago in a sterile hospital room, and now he's standing in his own hallway, still smelling faintly of fresh paint, Steve at his elbow. He can't leave anytime soon, of course, but this is still a big improvement.

"Three doors," Bucky murmurs after a few moments of awed silence. The kitchen/living room is open plan, which means... "Two bedrooms?"

Steve nods, leading Bucky down the hall. "Yeah; bathroom is the one in the middle, it connects both bedrooms, but the doors all lock. There's two bedrooms so we each have a space to call our own, if we want it." 

Bucky nods. He has a bag on his shoulder, woefully light, and he drops it into his hand. "You got your pick?" he asks.

"Nah, I figured we could flip a coin for it if you didn't want to choose. I think they're basically identical."

Bucky shrugs. "I'll take the one closest to the door."

"Fair enough," Steve concedes. "There's clothes and things in there, I think. You hungry?"

Bucky shrugs again. "Don't really remember what hungry feels like. I could probably eat."

"Maybe soup?" Steve suggests. "I've managed to figure out my Ma's old chicken noodle recipe."

Bucky looks pained for a split second before he smiles. "All right," he says. "Let's see what you got."

* * *

Their first few days at the apartment are quiet, the two of them learning to live in each other's space again. The nights, on the other hand, are often broken by the sound of one or both of them waking from nightmares. After almost a week of near-sleepless nights, Steve wakes from a familiar nightmare - being awake when the cab of the _Valkyrie_ floods -to see that his door is open. It only takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. "Bucky?" he calls, voice hoarse. "Did I wake you up?"

"No," Bucky rasps. It's even true. "I heard you, though. Are you okay?"

Steve takes a shaky breath, offers Bucky an even shakier smile. "Just a nightmare."

"That isn't an answer."

Steve laughs, quiet. "It's a nightmare. Who's okay after waking up from one?"

Bucky inclines his head. "Can I come in?" he asks.

Steve nods, shifting around until he's sitting upright, leaving room for Bucky to sit on the bed if he wants to. "Yeah, sure. You okay?"

Bucky takes the offered seat and peers through the gloom at Steve. "Yeah," he says. "I just... we used to do this?" It comes out like a question, though he already knows the answer.

"Talk about our nightmares? Yeah. More so during the war," Steve says. "If they were really bad, we'd sleep in the same bed. Easier, having someone you trusted at your back."

"So," Bucky says, looking at his hands now. "How bad was it?"

Steve takes a deep breath before admitting, "I've had it for a while, but it's never any less real. I keep dreaming that I was awake when the _Valkyrie_ went under the ice."

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath of his own. "Were you?" he demands.

"No," Steve reassures him. "I was disoriented on impact, and managed to get out of the pilot's chair and lay down on the floor of the cockpit before the cold put me to sleep. The plane was still on top of the ice then."

"Good," Bucky wheezes. "God."

"Yeah," Steve says, quietly. "It's the most common nightmare. Until I found out you were still alive. My mind likes to come up with scenarios about what Hydra might have done to you."

Bucky grimaces. The likelihood of Steve's imagination even coming close is slim, but... "Ask," he says, "after. I'll say yes or no."

"I'll keep that in mind," Steve says, letting them lapse into silence for a few moments before he speaks again. "What about you? Why were you up?"

Bucky shrugs, smiles a little. "I know what Hydra did to me," he says.

Steve nods. "I'm guessing you don't really want to talk about it?" he says wryly. 

Bucky shakes his head. "Not yet."

"Fair enough." He hesitates for a moment, fingers tensing in the sheet before he glances back up. "Do you want to stay here?"

"Do you want me to?" Bucky asks.

"I'd like it. If you want to."

The silence stretches between them for a long moment, but at last Bucky nods. "Okay."

Steve doesn't even try to hide his relief, scooting over and tugging the covers back for Bucky. "Come on, then."

Bucky gets into the bed and rolls over to face Steve, the covers tucked up around his shoulder. "Better?" he asks.

"Better," Steve agrees, sighing as he lets himself slide just a little closer to Bucky's warmth. "You good?" 

"Yeah," Bucky sighs. He closes his eyes. "Goodnight, Steve."

* * *

It becomes a thing, after that. At first, Steve and Bucky go to sleep in their separate rooms, separate beds, but more often than not they wind up in the same one - usually Steve's. Eventually, Steve suggests they forego the pretense, and they end up bunking in his room. Bucky's things stay in his room, but he sleeps in Steve's, curled up most nights facing Steve, but sometimes he holds Steve, and even more rarely he lets himself be held. 

The nights when Steve has nightmares where his subconscious tortures him with what might have happened to Bucky, he takes Bucky up on his offer to confirm or deny what Steve dreams. He never elaborates, not for the first couple of weeks, just answers yes or no. Eventually, he does start providing more information. Nothing too detailed, but he explains where Steve's dreams got it wrong - or right. Perversely, it helps. Knowing what Bucky actually went through doesn't stop the nightmares altogether, but it does make it easier to ascertain when he's dreaming, and therefore makes it easier to wake up. 

Steve opens up about what he went through, too; he's got less time than Bucky, fewer horror stories, but he doesn't feel right making Bucky be the only one to talk about what he suffered. Steve tells him about the weeks between when Bucky fell and Steve crashed, tells him about waking up in a whole new century, the radio playing a game he attended in person. That damn radio has featured in more than one nightmare where he's slept another seventy years. He talks about fighting aliens barely two weeks after waking up, of everything he went through after coming out, and the depression he still suffers from. He confesses how he thought, sometimes, about dropping his shield at just the right -wrong - moment. How a lot of the things he did, the risks he took, he did not because he knew he was hardier than the others on his team, but because he didn't care if he miscalculated. 

It's early one morning shortly after that last confession that Steve hits on an idea. "We've been cooped up here for weeks, now," he says over breakfast. "What do you say to going out for just a few hours?"

Bucky's eyes light up, and then go wide and innocent. "Steve," he says, slow. "I'm not supposed to leave the building."

"We aren't going to go far, or for too long," Steve reasons. "But staying cooped up isn't good for your mental health. I know my own therapist says that, I'm sure yours does too. Even if we just get out and take a walk around the block, it'll be better than nothing."

"But _Steve_ ," Bucky says, drawing out the E like he used to as a child. "You're supposed to be the _good_ one."

"The judge _did_ release you into my custody," Steve points out. "If we stick together, we should be fine."

Bucky heaves a put-upon sigh. "Well, okay," he says. "But when we get caught, remember this was your idea."

Steve beams. "Deal."

* * *

Steve and Bucky are only gone for about an hour and a half; they go for a walk, duck into a couple of small shops to browse a little, and end up trying some drinks from Starbucks that end up a bit too sweet for Steve's taste, but Bucky adores. Steve makes a note to at least get Sam or Tony to bring more of these drinks for Bucky. 

Bucky looks better for just this short jaunt, and Steve can't bring himself to be more than slightly remorseful when they're met with a grumpy-looking Tony in the front entrance of their building. "Hi, Tony."

"Don't 'hi, Tony' me," Tony says waspishly. "You know what you did. Get upstairs, the both of you."

Steve and Bucky exchange looks, but they do as told; it reminds Steve of the many times he and Bucky got in trouble as kids. He has to resist the urge to laugh; he doesn't think that would go over well with Tony. Once they're back in Steve and Bucky's apartment, Steve turns to Tony. "I can explain - "

"Oh, I'm sure you can," Tony agrees. "And I'm also sure whatever you have to say would not impress any of the officials that would've been waiting for you if you'd got home even ten minutes later."

Bucky glares at him. "What."

"Don't look at me like that," Tony says. "I had to give up some leeway with Jarvis. I can't override him if this go sideways for too long."

"And us going for a walk counts as things going sideways," Bucky says flatly.

"Yes! When you're on indefinite house arrest, yes, Barnes, it does!"

"We were both going stir crazy," Steve says, doing his best not to actively argue. "Would _anyone_ have said yes if we asked to get out for a couple of hours? Even if we agreed to a bunch of SHIELD agents following us, or any other condition?"

"Of course not," Tony blusters. "That's the whole point, Steve!"

"Really? Because I thought the whole point of all of this was to help Bucky recover, to help him figure out how to be a person again," Steve retorts. "Staying cooped up in one place, only talking to three people - tops - in a week isn't going to help _anyone._ Besides, he was released into my custody, and he never left it."

"Steve," Tony says, "you know it's not that simple. I'm not saying it does a man good to stay stuck between four walls a hundred percent of the time - but it doesn't do him good to wind up stuck behind bars, either, because _someone_ can't play by the rules."

"Well, then what do you suggest?"

Tony rolls his eyes. "I suggest," he says, "that you be smart about it. Jarvis has full control of this building. Not just your apartment, not just this floor. There are no blind spots. You walk out the front door, you have a violent episode, whatever, he knows - and if you're gone for long enough or it escalates beyond your control, he _has_ to inform the authorities. It was part of the conditions of Barnes and Noble's release. It's built into him; I can't override that."

"I'm failing to see how we can _be smart_ about getting around this impenetrable fortress you've built for us," Bucky grinds out through clenched teeth.

"Oh my god." Tony pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "You're not listening. Jarvis can see everything _inside_ the building. He can see all the exits from the _inside_. Including the balcony."

Steve frowns, considering Tony's words - but then his eyes widen. "Wait, so Jarvis doesn't have outside surveillance?"

"Nope." Tony shrugs. "You're not supposed to leave the building - what does he need outside surveillance for?"

Steve nods slowly. "Right. Well, thank you for showing us the error of our ways, Tony. We won't do it again."

"Good. See that you don't." Tony gives them both a stern look that quickly becomes a grin. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have shit that's actually important to do."

"Oh, of course; don't let us keep you from that," Steve laughs, waving Tony out; he waits until he's gone before rolling his eyes and turning back to Bucky. "Y'know, I like the guy well enough, but sometimes he needs to remember that none of us are psychic, so we can't read his mind."

Bucky shrugs. "The front door was probably not our smartest move."

"No, it wasn't," Steve agrees with a laugh. "For crying out loud, Nat would absolutely ashamed of me. Though in our defense, we never thought that there would only be internal surveillance."

Bucky pulls a face. "Trust Stark to pull a fast one on us as well as the government."

"At least it benefits us," Steve points out. "We can't go out every day - that's too risky. But now we know we can go out, as long as we're smart about it."

Bucky smiles. "I had a good time today," he offers.

Steve grins. "So did I. Even if we did get treated like misbehaving toddlers when we got back."

"That's half the fun," Bucky assures him. "It could have been a lot worse, believe me."

"Well, we can consider ourselves lucky, then," Steve says. "So, you want to go watch some Netflix? We should probably be on our best behavior for a day or two."

"Just a day or two," Bucky agrees.

* * *

It's actually just over a week before they venture out together again, but Bucky isn't complaining. Therapy has been taking it out of him lately, and he's only now up to tolerating the bustle of the city. "Wow," he drawls, pausing beside Steve in the foyer of the first museum they found. "Not a Captain America exhibit in sight. You excited?"

"Beyond," Steve answers, smiling. "I got enough of that after I came out. Had to oversee a lot of redesigning."

Bucky has heard about this before, and winces. "Well come on then," he says. "Let's look around."

Steve follows Bucky, looking around with interest. “Wasn’t this the setting of a movie?” he asks, craning his neck back to take in the full size of the T-Rex skeleton in the foyer. “ _Night at the Museum,_ I think?”

Bucky shoots him a sidelong look, amused. "You'd know better than me, pal."

”Well, I’m eager to see the new exhibits,” Steve says. “We came here once, on a school field trip when we were like, twelve. We got in trouble because you dared me to climb inside one of the exhibits.”

Bucky snorts. "Which one?"

”One of the dinosaur ones, I forget which one exactly,” Steve laughs. “Teacher caught me before I could get more than a foot in.” He leads the way over to a pamphlet stand, grabbing one with a list and map of the exhibits. “Oh, they’ve still got the dinosaur exhibit. Or they brought it back.”

Bucky's grin is sharp. "Dare you to climb in with one of them."

”Oh, no you don’t,” Steve says, wagging a finger at Bucky. “We’re supposed to be _laying low_ when we go out. I think Captain America climbing a into dinosaur exhibit is kind of the opposite of that. Come on; let’s go look at the Oceans exhibit first; we can work our way around the museum from there.”

* * *

They spend a good couple of hours in the museum and then, riding the high of freedom and each other's company, decide to push their luck for just a little longer. They wind up in a little ice cream place, and if anyone who works there recognises Steve, they're discreet enough not to mention it.

Bucky looks around properly only once they're sitting down with huge sugary monstrosities in front of them, and he gives Steve an impressed look. "They didn't have places like this back in our day, huh?"

"Nope," Steve answers, already digging into his dark chocolate raspberry truffle. "Much better ice cream now, and a lot more of it. Nicer shop, too." 

"Cleaner," Bucky agrees, nodding as he tucks into his own concoction. "More expensive, though."

Steve makes a face. "Everything is," he notes. "I about had a heart attack when I saw the price of a loaf of bread for the first time after I woke up."

Bucky smiles. "But you're rich now," he points out. "Bet that's nice."

"It's something I don't think about a lot," Steve confesses. "Except to give a bit away every month. Stark helped me set up a - a Twitter account. I ask people which organizations they suggest I support each month, and check out the answers. I don't need a lot myself, and I've got the money to help others now, so that's what I do."

Bucky's smile softens. "That's real nice, Steve."

Steve shrugs. "Last thing I want to be is someone who didn't help when they could. I can live pretty well off of a fraction of what I've got now, and I've still got plenty to give away. It can do more good in their hands than just sitting in my bank." He hesitates, then offers, "I can give you access to it. Or help set up a separate account for you, if you'd rather do that. So you've got your own money to spend, to get your own things."

Bucky thinks about it, and nods. "That judge mentioned something about back pay," he remembers. "If they ever decide I'm fit to rejoin society, I'd pay you back."

"That's not necessary," Steve says, but he's smiling. "It'd just end up getting donated, anyway. So, _when_ that happens, you can just make a donation to some charity you like, okay?"

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Fine," he says. "I probably should try to do something to help people for once."

Steve grins. "Well, I'm sure your therapist would be pleased with that," he says. "That getting any easier?"

"Ha." Bucky pulls a face. "No. I hate it."

Steve nods. "I don't really like going to my appointments, either," he admits. "But I think it's like rebreaking a limb so it can set properly. It hurts, but it heals properly."

Bucky laughs. "She tell you that herself?"

Steve laughs, a bit self-consciously. "No. She said that sometimes it has to get worse before it gets better."

"Well," Bucky says, "I'd hate to see how much worse it can get."

Steve shrugs. "Maybe it'll start getting better now," he suggests. 

Bucky smiles. "I think it will."

* * *

As promised, Steve helps Bucky set up a bank account in his own name, putting in the first deposit. It's a hefty one, but Steve just tells Bucky he'll end up depositing the same amount in several smaller deposits if Bucky doesn't take it all up front. Bucky rolls his eyes and relents, but he's smiling, a soft, real one, and Steve counts it as a win. He works with Tony to make sure that no judge can take Bucky's new account away from him, and then Natasha and Clint introduce Bucky to the wonderful world of online shopping - though different spectrums of it. Natasha helps him navigate clothing stores, figuring out his measurements and how to convert them into the sizes of each store, while Clint leads Bucky into the realm of online food ordering, and Steve resigns himself to nothing but takeout for every meal for the foreseeable future. They both take a hand in the electronics department; Natasha with music and how to find new music related to what he used to like, and what he discovers he likes now, and Clint with gaming, because he apparently thinks that Steve and Bucky are going to die of boredom sometime soon.

Steve leaves them to it, and doesn't think much of it until about a week later, when Jarvis announces that there's a delivery waiting for Bucky downstairs. Bucky's currently in the shower, so Steve fetches it for him. It's a light box, barely more than a few pounds, and relatively flat. He's curious about what could be inside, but it's not his package, so he doesn't pry. He does deliver it to Bucky's room, knocking before handing it through the cracked door and then returning to the show he'd been watching in the living room. When he hears Bucky's door open and shut, then footsteps approaching, he pauses and turns, asking, "What was - Oh."

Bucky's smile is soft, shy, and undeniably pleased as he pads into the room in his socks and sits down next to Steve on the couch. It isn't his socks Steve is looking at, though: rather, the oversized pale pink hoodie is stealing the show. Bucky reaches up to fiddle absently with the string at the hood, winding it around his finger, and risks a glance at Steve. "What?"

Steve shakes his head, but he's smiling. "You look good," he says. "Pink isn't what I would have thought you would go for, but it looks nice on you."

Bucky grins and looks away. "I like it," he says. "It's..." He laughs. "It's the furthest thing from black."

"It is that," Steve agrees with a chuckle. "Looks pretty comfortable, too."

"It is," Bucky agrees. He holds out his arm, the sleeve of the hoodie slipping down to cover most of his curled fingers. "It's soft. Feel it."

Steve does, making an appreciative noise. "Very soft," he agrees, smiling. "You going to redo your whole wardrobe now?"

"Maybe," Bucky says. "I like the colour."

Steve grins. "Well, let me know if I need to get Clint or Tony to bring by some paint swatches next time they visit," he teases, tone gentle. "Just in case you want to redecorate the apartment, too."

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he's laughing. "Don't be an asshole."

Steve laughs. "Alright, alright. But come on, I'm your oldest and best friend. I'm allowed a little bit of teasing."

"And I'm allowed to tell you to shut up," Bucky says sweetly. "Come on. What are we watching?"

" _Dr. K's Exotic Animal ER,_ " Steve answers. "It's a show about a vet who works with exotic animals - like monkeys, iguanas, snakes, pigs, and whatnot. It's really interesting, actually. And they've got some cool animals on there."

"Okay," Bucky says, attention already drawn to the TV. A few minutes later, he turns back to Steve. "Could you eat like three pizzas?"

Steve laughs. "Right now?"

"Well," Bucky says, already reaching for the laptop on the coffee table. "In about twenty minutes."

* * *

They go out again a few days after the hoodie arrives, though Bucky doesn't wear it. Too conspicuous. He opts instead for dark jeans and a black t-shirt beneath a black hooded top, and dark blue Converse that arrived the day after the hoodie on Clint's recommendation. Steve dresses with a little more colour, but he's wearing his glasses, so the likelihood of them being recognised is slim.

They don't have anything planned for today beyond a simple walk, but they stop at a hotdog stand and chat to a girl down the street selling trinkets she made herself. Bucky leaves with a keyring for a set of keys he doesn't own and Steve gets a whole set of pin badges with cute doodles on them. They keep walking, for once at ease with the crowds, until Bucky looks to his right and finds that Steve isn't beside him. He immediately does a full one-eighty, his eyes wide, but he doesn't have time to panic before he spots Steve just two stores back, looking up at the window display with an awed expression. Bucky returns to his side and follows his gaze.

"You like it?" he asks softly.

Steve's staring at a leather jacket in the display; it's a gorgeous piece, brown leather worked until it looks worn and soft, and just from estimating, Steve thinks it might even fit him. He glances at Bucky, biting his lip, before looking back at the display. "Yeah," he answers. "It - I had one. Right after the Battle of New York. Got ambushed by some rogue Doom agents a few weeks after that, though. It got destroyed."

"It'd suit you," Bucky tells him. He glances at Steve sidelong. "You want it?"

"Yeah," Steve admits, quiet. "You don't mind making a short detour?"

Bucky rolls his eyes and gestures towards the door to the shop. "After you."

The saleswoman is more than happy to help Steve - and make a lucrative sale; the jacket is genuine leather, and well over three hundred dollars - and when Steve and Bucky leave the shop, the jacket settled comfortably on Steve's shoulders, Steve can't stop the small, pleased smile. "You know, I never would've been able to do this before. Walk into a shop and buy this for myself, even if I could've afforded it."

"What?" Bucky asks, laughing. "Why not?"

"Back before the war," Steve clarifies. "I never would've had the confidence to buy something like this, and not pretend it was for you."

Bucky shakes his head, bumps his shoulder against Steve's. "Looks better on you than it would on me now," he says. "Worth the wait?"

"Yeah," Steve agrees, bumping Bucky in return. "Definitely."

* * *

Natasha comes for a visit a few days later, while Steve is out on official business. She insists that she hasn't been sent over to babysit, and Bucky believes her only because he knows that she would be unapologetically upfront about it if she had. They settle themselves in the living room with Netflix and Bucky's new fuzzy blanket and no plans to surface for several hours.

Steve finds them there, curled up in the middle of the sofa, both apparently occupied by something between them. Natasha is... holding one of Bucky's hands. Bucky looks up when Steve clears his throat, the pink hood slipping down off his head as he does, and grins. "Hey Stevie," he says. "Come sit."

Steve does, looking at the two of them curiously. “You look like you’re having fun,” he notes. “Is that... nail polish?”

Nat shoots him a sharp look, but Bucky just shrugs. "Yeah," he says. "Nat was doing hers and I wanted to try it."

Steve nods. "Fair. What color are you using?"

Natasha holds up the bottle of nail polish without looking up again, revealing the deep and vaguely shimmery blue. "It's called Night Sky," she tells him. "I also have Vampy Red and Ghost with me if you want yours doing. Nice patriotic theme?" Bucky cackles.

Steve rolls his eyes, but scoots closer. "Sure," he says. "Gotta try everything at least once, right?"

Natasha smirks, but she just finishes off Bucky's first coat and pushes him away to dry before reaching for Steve's hand. "Do you want patterns?" she asks.

"Why not?" Steve says with a laugh, relinquishing his hand without a fuss. "You're the expert, here."

* * *

They have a nice night, even if Steve doesn't really seem to know what to do with his new nails, which are as promised painted red, white and blue, stars and stripes included. Natasha leaves eventually though, and it takes a good twenty minutes after she sees herself out for Bucky to sit up from his position with his head in Steve's lap. "Aw," he complains a moment later, looking mournfully at the coffee table. "She left her polish behind."

"She'll be back eventually," Steve says. "Jarvis, let her know she left them behind, please?"

"Of course, sir."

Bucky sighs and leans back into the sofa, smiling. "You like your nails?" he asks. "Very you."

Steve holds them up to inspect. "They are, aren't they?" he muses. "She's pretty good at this."

Bucky laughs. "You gonna keep it?"

"Until it all chips off, at least," Steve laughs. "What about you?"

"Eh, maybe," Bucky says, examining the nails on his own right hand. "Shame the other one couldn't get in on the fun, though."

Steve's eyes wander to Bucky's arm, then to the bottles of nail polish, and when he remembers the red of the star on the shoulder against the sleek metal, an idea sparks. "Maybe it can. Wait here, I need to grab something from the room."

Bucky just watches him go, bemused - and he laughs outright when Steve comes back. "Why?"

"I don't want to get the couch messy," Steve reasons. "So if any nail polish gets on anything, it'll get on the towels." He lays the towels in question along the back of the couch, then reaches for the bottles on the coffee table. 

Bucky's still laughing. "What are you doing?"

Steve sorts out the bottles, making sure they're in the order he wants them before he answers. "Well, I was thinking I might try painting over that star. Not enough here to fully cover it, but..."

Bucky glances towards the arm, still mercifully covered by the pink hoodie. He wonders if Steve has ever caught a glimpse of it in its entirety. "You want to?" he asks.

"If you're okay with it," Steve says. "I know that hand doesn't have nails to paint, but I figured I could try something on the star."

Bucky shrugs. "Okay," he says - and hesitates. "I don't... have anything on under this. Do you want me to change? It's pretty bad."

"If you'd feel more comfortable with a shirt on, then go ahead," is Steve's answer. 

Bucky hesitates some more, and takes a breath. If Steve can be brave, so can he. He pulls the hoodie over his head and waits.

Steve doesn't shy away from the ugly scarring around where the prosthetic joins Bucky's body. He takes a moment to look, to take it in, and then he looks up and gives Bucky a soft, reassuring smile. "You ready?"

Bucky smiles back, his heart pounding, and nods. "Yeah," he says. "Go ahead."

Steve's smile widens, and he reaches for the nail polish as he gets to work. He starts with the star; the deep red shows through the white, but the white mutes it, turns the blood red into something softer, kinder. Once that's covered, he sketches out circles, rippling out from the star, first painting a background of blue that touches each point, and then in alternating stripes of red and white. When he's done, Bucky has a sketched-out version of Steve's shield adorning his shoulder. Steve eyes his work once more before nodding, satisfied. "What do you think?" he asks, looking up; it's only when he does that he realizes he's scooted close enough that their thighs are pressed together, and there's next to no space between them anywhere else.

Bucky glances down for the first time since they started this, some of his hair falling into Steve's eyes as he does so, and smiles. "It's you," he says.

Steve's smile widens, and when he reaches up to push Bucky's hair back, he tells himself it's because it's in both of their visions. Not at all because he just wants to touch Bucky. "Well, I was working with what I had," he replies. "Could color it all in if I had some actual paints."

"Would you?" Bucky asks, hopeful. "The same design?"

"Yeah," Steve says, smiling. "Maybe get Tony to mix up some of the paint he uses on his suit in the colors we need?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, soft. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"I'll send him a text, then," Steve promises. "He can probably make it up pretty quickly. Should do a couple of coats, make sure nothing's going to show through that you don't want to."

Bucky nods seriously. "I hate feeling like theirs," he admits, his gaze downcast.

Steve makes a sympathetic noise, and places a hand on Bucky's knee, squeezing gently in a show of comfort. "Yeah, I get that. But I'll cover it up for you, so you won't have to see it anymore."

Bucky smiles again. "And then I'll feel like yours."

Steve's breath hitches, his stomach twisting at the idea - but it's not an unpleasant sensation. "Well, you'll also be your own person," he says. "But yeah. You can be mine, too. And I'll be yours."

"Yeah," Bucky says, something settling warm and content in his own stomach. "I like the sound of that."

* * *

Tony has the paint ready the day after Steve asks for it, and they don't waste any time in turning that hateful red star into something a bit more hopeful. The difference it makes for Bucky is immediately noticeable; he carries himself differently, like the burden on his shoulders has lessened. He and Steve have both become more comfortable together physically; it's not uncommon now for them to start leaning against each other on the sofa while they're watching television, or to pass a hand over the other's back in passing as they move around each other in the apartment. 

It's this last that Steve uses to get Bucky's attention a few days later. He runs his hand down Bucky's back on his way to the refrigerator while they're cooking dinner, saying, "Hey, Buck, I've got a blood moon coming soon. I've got supplies, but the cramps make me really restless now. You probably won't get a lot of sleep if you stay in the bed with me." 

Bucky turns to watch Steve move across the kitchen like a plant rotates to follow the sun. "What did we do before?" he asks.

"Well, I couldn't take most painkillers because of the anemia and my heart. So if the cramps got really bad, you'd sometimes give me a, uh, a backrub."

"Well, obviously I can still give you a backrub when you need one," Bucky says, "but would it be easier for you if I wasn't there?"

Steve hesitates, but shakes his head. "No. I like physical contact. It makes it easier to bear everything," he confesses. "Painkillers really don't work on me, now. I metabolize them too fast."

Bucky shrugs. "Then I'll stay put," he says. He smiles. "A bit of blood isn't going to scare me off, Steve."

"No, but the resulting hormonal roller coaster might," Steve laughs. "Seriously, that hasn't gotten any better. I _cried_ once when Clint criticized a television character too harshly."

Bucky laughs. "I think I can handle it," he says. "But thanks for the heads up."

* * *

Two days later, Steve flops onto the couch, over onto his side, and lays his head on Bucky's thigh. "I hate this week," he whines. "Everything hurts."

Bucky just clucks sympathetically and sinks the fingers of his right hand into Steve's hair. "I know," he soothes. "It'll be over in a few days."

Steve lets out a pleased hum, pushing into the contact. "It's bad enough that I can't bind," he complains. 

"Your chest botherin' you?" Bucky asks, his voice soft.

"Yeah. Too sore to bind, but not binding feels weird." Steve hesitates, then jokes - though his tone is too light to be truly joking - "It's certainly a point in favor of doing the surgery that Tony and his doctors have been looking into."

The hand in Steve's hair stills. "What surgery?"

"There's a surgery for people like me," Steve explains. "It would make my chest flat without needing to bind. Well, _flatter,_ anyway. But no one was sure, after I woke up and came out, if the serum would interfere with the drugs they'd need to use during the surgery."

"But Stark's working on it?" Bucky asks. "And you want it?"

"Yeah, I do. Stark told me the doctors think they've finally figured it out, so... I'm going to talk to them and maybe get it scheduled."

"That's great," Bucky says. "Wow, Steve, that's amazing. That would never have even been a dream when we were young."

"No, it wouldn't have been," Steve agrees. "But as soon as I knew it was an option... Well, I asked if they thought they might be able to find a way to make it work. They were worried about the serum, how it might interact with the anesthesia, mostly. They were pretty confident about being able to perform it fast enough to not have to worry about the accelerated healing."

"You should do it," Bucky says. "This is huge. Just a shame they can't do anything about..." He gestures vaguely towards Steve's midriff. "The monthlies."

"There's a thing called HRT - hormone replacement therapy," Steve says thoughtfully. "They weren't sure it would work, again because of the serum and how it messed with my body. But when regular, non-supersoldier people do it, they take hormones of whatever they don't have - so for people like me, I think it'd be testosterone? - and it helps shift the balance in their bodies. So regular trans guys can do HRT and stop their monthlies, if it's an option for them. But maybe I can ask about progress on that when I get the surgery scheduled."

Bucky blinks. "Jesus, Steve."

"What?"

"I just can't believe it," Bucky says. "We thought we'd be looking over our shoulders our whole lives."

"Well, I mean... Technically, we did for one lifetime," Steve points out. "I don't know about you, but after I joined Erskine's program, after I became 'Captain America,' I felt like I was starting a whole new life."

"But you were looking over your shoulder even more then," Bucky remembers suddenly. "You were terrified someone would notice. Even the Howlies."

"I was," Steve admits. "But to be fair, I'd just had what was basically a full-body replacement. And I'd never lived or worked so closely with so many other guys at the same time. I didn't know the new body like I did the old one, so I wasn't confident about how well I could make it look like I wanted."

"It feels like I have a new life now," Bucky admits. "Like we both do." He glances down, smiles when he sees Steve looking up. "I'm glad I'm here."

Steve smiles back. "Me, too."

* * *

Steve does go see the doctors; they have good news for him, and it doesn't take long to settle on a date for the surgery. It's another few weeks of waiting, but after almost ninety years, what's a little longer? He's a bundle of excited nerves the entire time until his surgery date. Steve and Bucky go out several more times, seeking a distraction from the way Steve's all but bouncing off of the walls, but nothing works for very long.

One thing Steve can sit still for, however, is cuddles. He's always been a sucker for cuddles, and Bucky is just as good at them now as he ever was. Steve's shameless about asking for them; Bucky doesn't take him up on the offer of swapping places, but Steve thinks he still derives comfort from being so close to another human without violence involved. Every night they find their way to the couch and into each other's space, often arranging themselves so that Steve can lay against Bucky while Bucky has easy access to Steve's hair. They never used to do this so often, before the war or during, but Steve is far from complaining. Even when being so close to Bucky for so long makes his heart do weird things in his chest, or half-formed thoughts cross his mind.

Steve ignores them, up to and after his surgery. It goes well; he arrives at the hospital, gets checked in and goes through pre-op without a hitch. The surgeon explains what they're going to be doing - including how they've adjusted the anesthetic - and after Steve gives his final consent, they wheel him into the operating room and knock him out.

He wakes up in a hospital room, his chest sore, almost outright painful, but for once he welcomes the pain. A nurse comes in, first, making sure there's nothing wrong, and then the doctor comes in and walks him through how the surgery went - exceedingly well - and what he'll need to do to make sure his chest heals properly. He stays overnight, just so the doctors make sure that there's nothing else to be worried about, no possible aftereffects of the modified anesthesia, but the next day he's able to go home. 

Seeing Bucky waiting for him in the front entrance of their building makes Steve inordinately happy, but he blames it on the traces of incredibly potent painkillers the doctor had sent him home with. "Heya, Buck," he says, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. "Notice anything different?"

"Only how happy you look," Bucky tells him, grinning. "Come on. I may or may not have made a nest in the living room."

Steve goes with a laugh. "I'd be willing to lay money on there being a nest," he chuckles. "But that sounds really good; those hospital beds really aren't that comfortable."

Bucky's mouth twists. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there," he says. "I harassed the shit outta Stark, but he couldn't get me out."

Steve moves closer so that he can wrap an arm around Bucky's shoulders. "I know. But I was only gone for two days, and I can do the rest of the recovery here, at home."

Bucky smiles. "Well, I'll just have to look after you, won't I?"

"I certainly won't complain about it," Steve says, returning Bucky's smile with one of his own. "Are we going to start with a movie marathon?"

"Whatever you want, sweetheart," Bucky tells him. He lets them both into the apartment and ushers Steve into the living room, where the monstrosity of a nest is taking up the entire sofa. "Make yourself comfortable. You're not still nil-by-mouth, are you? 'Cause I made _so much_ chicken tikka."

Steve shakes his head as he settles into the pile of blankets, burrowing in. "Nope, doctor cleared me for all of that before I left, since I'm not on most of the drugs that are usually needed after a surgery like that."

"So are you hungry?" Bucky asks, already heading for the kitchen. "I made it extra hot."

"Bring it on," Steve laughs. "I'm hungry enough to start gnawing on your left arm."

Bucky comes back with the food as soon as it's ready, and provides a mug of strong tea to go with it. "Don't get up," he warns when Steve starts to move. "I am at your beck and call all day. What are we watching?"

Steve smirks. "That's a dangerous thing to tell me," he snickers as he accepts the food and drink. "I could ask you to give me foot rubs and shit, maybe keep you running all day." He does reach out and grab the remote though, pulling up the digital library and scrolling through. "I'm in the mood for something fun. Disney and Dreamworks?"

Bucky settles himself carefully next to Steve and digs into his curry. "Sounds like a plan to me," he mumbles around a mouthful of rice. "The foot rub can wait until after I've finished this, though."

* * *

Steve does get a foot rub eventually; it's short, and Steve only gets it because he got a cramp in the arch of his foot from the awkward position he and Bucky had wormed themselves into, but it's a foot rub nonetheless. They spend all day in their nest, Bucky getting up every so often to get more food, and Steve only leaves a couple of times when he desperately needs to use the bathroom. He has to admit it's nice, being fussed over by Bucky in a way that isn't quite what they used to do. This, today, isn't so much Bucky being a mother hen as it is Bucky _caring_ for him, and though it's a small distinction, Steve feels like it's also an important one.

Eventually, after they've worked their way through the entire _Kung Fu Panda_ and _How to Train Your Dragon_ series and _The Lion King_ and its sequels, Steve finally notices the time after he yawns hard enough to crack his jaw. "Damn, it's almost midnight," he groans. "I don't know about you, but I don't think my back would be very happy with me if we slept out here."

Bucky laughs. "You're getting old," he teases. "But all right, let's go to bed. You still sore?"

"Yeah," Steve says with a grimace as he works his way into an upright position. "Doctors said I'd probably be sore for at least a few days, even though I heal quickly."

"You want me to stay in the other room?" Bucky asks as he helps Steve gingerly to his feet. "Or I could sleep on the floor."

"No, I want you to stay," Steve says; he doesn't even have to think about that answer.

Bucky smiles softly. "All right," he says. "I'm right behind you."

It's really not far to the bedroom, but they take it easy anyway, because it's been a long day and they're tired and they can. Steve's chest, when he takes his shirt off, is still wrapped, and Bucky wonders for a single bitter second if his version of the serum will keep him from becoming a scarred, mangled mess before he brushes it aside. Steve deserves this, deserves to feel comfortable in his skin perhaps more than anyone. The last thing Bucky wants is for him to feel the way Bucky does every time he catches himself in the mirror.

They get changed in silence, on opposite sides of the room, but come together in the middle to climb into bed at the same time. Bucky briefly considers putting his foot down about sleeping on the floor, but all it takes is a wince from Steve to kill that thought. "Come here," he murmurs, opening his arms. "Let me hold you."

"Mm, okay," Steve hums, going without a second thought. He presses himself as close as he can, mindful of his bandages and the ache beneath them. 

It takes them a moment or two to work it out, and when they finally settle Bucky buries his face in Steve's hair and just breathes him in. "I missed you," he admits.

Steve's own smile is hidden, but there nonetheless as he answers, "I missed you, too, Buck." It’s the truth; it was one night, little more than twenty-four hours, but sleeping had been damn near impossible without Bucky's presence next to him. "Missed you an awful lot."

Bucky sighs. "Well, I've got you now," he says. "Get some sleep, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah," Steve says with a smile. "You, too."

Bucky will never admit it, but he barely slept a wink last night. With Steve back in their bed, safe if somewhat sore in his arms, he hardly thinks he can be blamed for dropping off within minutes.

Steve can't help the overwhelming sense of fondness at the way Bucky drops off immediately, or the way that he curls even closer to Steve in his sleep. Steve shifts his hold until he can run his fingers through Bucky's hair, his smile soft and sleepy as he starts to drift off himself. _God, I love him,_ Steve thinks, even the thought slurred as sleep pulls at him.

He's too far gone for more than a thought of, _Wait, what?_ to hit him as he realizes just how he'd meant that. Certainly too close to sleep to really feel the not-unreasonable sense of panic at the implications.

* * *

Steve doesn't get much of a chance to freak out about his new realization before Sam shows up at their front door for a surprise visit. "You guys have plenty of space," is the excuse he gives when Steve asks why he's staying here. "Stark outfitted an entire goddamn apartment building for your use, I'm sure I can find a corner somewhere to stash my stuff. Besides, I've never gotten a chance to really see New York. Who better to stay with than the guys who grew up there?"

Steve just rolls his eyes and helps Sam carry his luggage in. "Hey, Buck," he calls as he nudges the door open with his foot. "We've got company."

Bucky looks over, automatically tugging his pink sleeve down over his left hand, and winces. "Oh," he says. "It's you."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, it's me," he says slowly, but he reaches out a hand to shake. "Don't think we ever really got introduced. Sam Wilson."

Bucky hesitates, but accepts the offer. "Bucky Barnes," he says. "Sorry about, y'know. Almost killing you."

"You gonna try again?"

"Dunno," Bucky says, and then shrugs. "Probably not."

Sam grins. "Then we're good," he announces. "Now, who am I kicking out of their bedroom?"

"What happened to the corner idea?" Steve laughs. "We don't have a spare bedroom, but the couch is pretty comfortable."

Bucky shoots Steve a quizzical look, but he doesn't argue. "I'm sure we can even rustle up a blanket and a throw pillow to make the place real cosy."

"Well I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble," Sam drawls, but he's grinning. 

"Then you can do without," Bucky tells him with a wink. "Better yet, you can break into one of these abandoned apartments and sleep on the floor."

Sam just flips him off, and Bucky throws his head back and laughs.

* * *

Sam crashes pretty much as soon as Bucky finishes setting up the couch for him - with a proper pillow and a duvet, because he's so nice - but they did keep him up past midnight, so he probably won't get too much shit for it tomorrow. Steve and Bucky finish tidying up around him, and then make the silent agreement to head to bed. Bucky goes straight for the door to his own bedroom, but hesitates when he feels Steve's gaze on the back of his neck. "What?" he asks, not turning.

"Do you.. want to sleep alone tonight?" Steve asks, a little hesitantly. Bucky hadn't even glanced at the door to Steve's room - to what Steve has come to call _their_ room in his mind. 

Bucky shrugs. "You told Wilson we didn't have a spare room. I just figured..."

"It's still your room," Steve points out. "Your space. I didn't think you'd want him staying there for who knows how long."

Bucky still doesn't turn. "Could've asked."

Steve swallows. "I should've," he concedes. "I'm sorry for assuming."

Bucky shakes his head, huffs a soft laugh. "Go get changed," he says. "I'll be in in a minute."

Steve does his best to repress the sigh of relief; he isn't quite successful. "Alright," he says, smiling just as soft of Bucky's laugh before he does as bid, disappearing into the bedroom. It's only been a couple of days since his surgery, so he's still wearing bandages - though probably not for much longer. He slips into the bathroom to change them before he pulls on an old, ratty t-shirt and a pair of boxers, sliding under the covers and getting comfortable.

Bucky joins him a few minutes later, duffel bag slung over one shoulder. "There," he says, depositing the bag at the bottom of the bed. "One spare room. I can have a drawer in the dresser, right?"

Steve grins. "Of course. You can even have some closet space, too," he says magnanimously. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he's grinning, too. "You're so kind."

"Well of course I am, I'm Captain America," Steve says, a shit-eating grin on his face. "C'mon, I'm tired. Let's head to sleep, yeah?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, and pulls the hoodie over his head. "Budge up a little."

Steve does so, watching Bucky with a fond expression. "One of these days you're going to strangle yourself with that hoodie."

"At least it'll make things interesting," Bucky counters. He slides into bed beside Steve and wastes no time snuggling up close to him. "Shut up and go to sleep."

* * *

Steve's up before Bucky the next morning; when he wanders past the living room, he sees that Sam's already gone, probably out jogging considering how early it is. He starts making breakfast for the three of them, and he's just cracking the eggs into the sizzling skillet when Sam comes back in. "Hey," he calls. "Bucky said you could use the other bedroom. He finished moving his stuff into mine."

Sam, sweaty and still panting softly, squints at him. "All of his stuff?" he asks. "That's a bit extreme, isn't it? I'm only here for a week."

Steve shrugs. "It was only like, a duffle bag. Most of it was already in my room."

Sam squints more. "Why?"

"Why what?" Steve asks, focusing on not burning the eggs. 

"Why was his shit in your already in your room," Sam repeats, unimpressed. "Steve."

"What? We've already been sleeping together, since we figured out it made the nightmares easier," Steve argues. "He didn't want to keep going back into his room to change and then into mine to sleep."

Sam's eyes widen almost comically at that. "Fuck," he says softly. "You never told me."

Steve frowns, glancing over his shoulder. "Told you what? Ow, shit!" He quickly shakes out the hand that just got hit with bacon grease, turning the heat down a notch. 

"Y'know," Sam says, ignoring Steve's outburst, "that it was _like that_."

It takes Steve a moment to figure out what Sam's getting at, and then he rolls his eyes. "Because it’s _not,_ " he says. "I probably would've said something if it was. But Bucky and I aren't together."

"But you were," Sam presses. "Before."

Steve shakes his head, attention now studiously focused on the stove and the food there. "No, we weren't."

Sam blinks. "But you _wanted_ to be."

Steve hesitates, biting his lip before admitting, "Not back then."

Sam's eyes widen even further. "But now."

Steve glances down the hall to make sure Bucky isn't up before he answers. "Yes. But I don't - It's too soon. He's still figuring out how to be himself, he doesn't need me fucking that up, asking him to figure out how to be _us,_ too."

"You think he'd be game for it, if he wasn't so screwed up?" Sam asks.

"I have no idea," Steve confesses. "And I'm not going to ask him anytime soon." 

"That's probably smart," Sam agrees. "You don't want to push too hard. But it can't hurt to put some feelers out."

"I've got no idea how to do that, though," Steve mutters, shifting the eggs over to plates before he grabs the waiting sausages and puts them on the now-empty skillet.

"No idea how to do what?" Bucky asks, appearing from nowhere and making them both jump. He's wearing the pink hoodie again.

Sam recovers first. "My man," he says, grinning. "We were just talking about you."

Steve kicks Sam in the ankle - carefully, but enough to be a rebuke. "Nothing bad. I've almost got breakfast ready; you hungry?"

"Starving," Bucky tells him, coming to sit at the table. "What is it you can't do?"

"Sam was talking about some charity event back at D.C.," Steve improvises. "Wanted to know how I felt about getting up and giving a speech or something."

Bucky laughs. "And you have no idea how to give a speech? You're Captain America."

"It's an event for the LGBT community," Sam elaborates, ignoring the warning look Steve shoots him. "He hasn't really had much experience addressing that group en masse since he came out."

"Well, not in person," Steve says. "I've done some interviews, little one-on-one things that were published or aired, but I wasn't speaking directly to large crowds. Even back before the war I never did speeches, I was following someone else's script."

Bucky rolls his eyes, fond, but he accepts the excuse. "Well, I think you should give it a shot. It's important, right Wilson?"

"Oh yeah," Sam agrees, way too quickly. "Real important."

Steve smiles, hiding the fact that it's a weak one by turning his attention back to the stove. "Well, I'll think about it," he says, already mentally composing an SOS text to Pepper. 

Bucky smiles at the back of his head, but then turns to Sam. "So I get the general idea, but what does that mean?" he asks. "LGT-what?"

"LGBT," Sam repeats. "It's the most popular - or maybe 'well-known' would be better - term for the queer community. For people like me and Steve, who don't exactly fit in with what society considers 'the norm.'" This last is said derisively, complete with air quotes. 

Bucky's eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and he glances briefly towards Steve. "So does it stand for something?" he asks.

"Lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans," Sam answers. "But there's lots of other sexual and romantic orientations, and gender identities. It's a big, diverse world out there, and people are finally finding labels for themselves. But LGBT was one of the first ones for the community as a whole."

"Huh," Bucky says, "okay." His gaze flits to Steve again, and he barely manages not to flush when he sees that Steve is already watching him. "What are you doing over there, hand-rearing the pigs? I'm starving."

Steve startles, but grins. "When are you not?" he counters with a laugh, dividing up the meat before bringing the plates over to the table. "Here, since you're so desperate."

Bucky completely misses the look Sam sends between them, too busy tucking into his breakfast.

* * *

The three of them spend an amicable morning and early afternoon together before Sam announces that he's bored and insists that Steve take him on a tour of the city. It would be a bit too much to expect Jarvis to overlook all three of them disappearing for a few hours, so Bucky bows out before Steve can suggest it and sequesters himself away in their bedroom.

They're gone until early evening, and Bucky emerges to be sociable just in time for dinner. He's quiet for the rest of the night, but no one seems to notice, and when Sam puts his foot down and demands to be allowed to turn in at a reasonable hour, he feels almost relieved. There's something he needs to get off his chest.

He and Steve say their goodnights and slip into their bedroom at the same time as Sam vanishes into the newly-appointed spare. Steve gets changed and into bed quickly, but Bucky takes his time. "You like both, right?" he asks lightly, his back turned while he rummages in the dresser for some clean sweats. "You're bisexual?"

"Yeah," Steve says, watching Bucky curiously. "I identify as bisexual."

Bucky finds the sweats and pulls them on, turns back towards Steve so he can get into bed. "And Sam?"

"I think he said he was demisexual? He doesn't experience sexual attraction unless he's formed a bond with someone, first. But he and his late partner, Riley, were together, so he might be biromantic."

"Or homoromantic," Bucky offers, pleased with himself. "Unless you've seen him with a girl?"

"He made a joke once about me showing up at the VA and making him look good in front of the girl at the front desk, and he seemed interested in Nat until he realized she was with Clint, but I've never actually seen him with a girl," Steve muses. "Never thought to ask, either. Not really my business to go prying into his past love life." 

"No," Bucky agrees, "I suppose not." He slides down in the bed until he can rest his head on the pillow, facing Steve. "I think I'm just gay."

Steve's breath catches in his throat; he's managed to get it moving again by the time he shifts around to mirror Bucky's position. "Yeah? That why you were so eager to stay behind today? Research?"

Bucky nods. "I tried out all the names," he says - and then huffs. "Well, most of 'em. But I think it's just that simple."

"Well, simple isn't always bad," Steve says with a smile, reaching out to run his fingers through Bucky's hair. "If that's what fits you, it's good."

Bucky sighs and leans into the touch, his eyes closing briefly. "I think so," he agrees. "It's nice to be able to say it out loud, isn't it?"

"Without having to worry about someone else overhearing, especially," Steve agrees, still smiling. "I'm glad you figured out what works for you, Buck."

Bucky smiles back, warm and content. "Me too."

* * *

Steve may or may not freak out a little bit to Sam when they go on a jog the next morning; he hadn't expected Bucky to take Sam's hints and _run_ with them the way that they had, so he hadn't had any time whatsoever to prepare himself for what Bucky may have decided. As it is, Bucky possibly being interested in him seems suddenly all-too-real of a possibility, and Steve can't help but obsess over how he's acted in the past, looking for any hint that it may be so. He's well aware that he's acting like a teenager, that he could just suck it up and ask Bucky on a proper date, but... He still can't bring himself to do it, still worrying about how that would affect Bucky's rediscovery of himself. Natasha and Sam would probably both just roll their eyes at him, but Steve still does nothing. 

If he were a bit more self-observant, he might realize that while he's been agonizing over this the past couple of days, he's been distant not only to Sam, but Bucky as well. He might even notice that Bucky's been giving him worried looks.

"Steve," Bucky says, early one morning before Sam is awake and after Bucky has woken up alone, _again_. The look Steve gives him when he finally turns to face him is unreadable, but it makes Bucky feel cold anyway. "Are you okay?"

Steve offers Bucky what is clearly supposed to be a reassuring smile, but misses the mark. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just been thinking about a lot of things lately, that's all."

"Like what?" Bucky asks, daring to draw a little closer.

Steve shrugs. "Just things. The talk I'm doing in D.C., worrying about some things that I can't really do a whole lot to change, you know how I get sometimes."

Bucky sighs, ducks his head. "Is this about... us?" he asks, so quiet it's a wonder Steve can hear him.

Steve freezes, panic flaring, but he can't bring himself to lie to Bucky, even about this. "It's... a little bit a part of it," he hedges. 

Bucky nods, seems to steel himself before he looks back up. When he does, his expression is open, honest and maybe a little vulnerable. "I'm trying," he says. "I know it's hard for you, but I'm getting there. I want us to be like we were before."

Steve blinks. "That's..." He's about to say 'not the problem,' but it kind of is, isn't it? Steve doesn't _want_ Bucky to keep trying to remember what they were like before; he likes what they have now, and wants to keep it. But how unfair is that? So instead, he manages to conjure up a more genuine smile. "I know you are," he says instead. "It's fine, Bucky. I'm just getting stuck in my head again. I'll be fine in a day or two."

Bucky offers Steve a small smile. "Okay," he says. "If you're sure."

"I am," Steve promises, stepping forward so he can pull Bucky into a hug. "Really."

Bucky closes his eyes with a soft sigh, and holds on for as long as Steve lets him.

* * *

Natasha shows up the next day, fresh from a top-secret mission, to check in with Steve and see Sam before he leaves the next morning. She doesn't really speak to Bucky, but she's friendly enough and Bucky is honestly grateful. He isn't ready to go near their history with a barge pole. They order takeout and wash it down with a few beers that do nothing for three of the group but leave Sam loose-limbed and content, and around eleven Bucky excuses himself to turn in before he ODs on social interaction.

It's then that Natasha makes her move. "So," she says, not quite cornering Steve in the kitchen when he gets up to fetch more drinks. "This playing house with your long-lost bestie is cute and everything, but when are you going to get back out there?"

"There haven't been any emergencies," Steve points out. "If something happens you know I'll come fight."

Natasha reaches out and shoves him, hard. "You know what I mean," she says. "You're not the one on house arrest, y'know."

Steve rolls his eyes. "I'm also not that interested in dating."

"Why not?" Natasha asks, her gaze shrewd. "Everyone wants someone to keep them warm at night, and I'm sure Barnes is doing a bang-up job, but it's hardly the same."

"Why does that someone have to be someone I'm in a relationship with?" Steve counters. "I'm happy enough with where I'm at, Nat. I don't need a relationship."

Natasha rolls her eyes. "Fine," she says. "But you _do_ need to get out more. Without Barnes."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "And what do you suggest, then?" he asks good-naturedly; he knows her better than to think she's dropped the subject of him dating completely. 

"Let me set you up with some people," Natasha says. "Not to date," she adds, when Steve starts to protest. "Just to talk. You need friends. _Normal_ friends. You need a connection to the real world."

Steve sighs. "Alright. Just one time for now, though. Let me see how that goes."

Natasha brightens. "Great," she says. "Boy or girl? Or do you not care?"

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't," Natasha says, the picture of innocence. "Leave it with me. And text me your schedule, if you even have one."

"I'm gonna regret this, aren't I?"

* * *

Steve doesn't immediately regret anything; he texts Natasha his schedule - which is admittedly sparse aside from the excursions he and Bucky still sneak from the apartment - and when all he gets is a thumbs-up, he puts it from his mind for the moment. At least he knows that she's planning something, this time; it hadn't gone too well when she'd planned a surprise birthday party for him last year.

The day after Natasha and Sam leave, Steve and Bucky escape once again; this time, they're just wandering New York, their steps in sync, shoulders brushing as they amble along sidewalks and across streets, pausing occasionally to watch street performers or window shop. Staying moving helps them not be recognized by man or machine - Steve's still wary about anything that isn't Stark tech after the fiasco in D.C. - but more importantly, it helps with _their_ anxiety about being caught. Well, Steve's anyway. He's never been the best at stealth missions, and can't help thinking that there's just something about him that sticks out like a sore thumb. It might be a leftover from his youth on the streets of Depression-era Brooklyn, but he's never been able to shake the feeling that he's one misstep away from being caught out. The feeling only got worse after he became Captain America. 

They've been out for almost half an hour when they wander past an entrance to Central Park; Steve hesitates before reaching out and taking Bucky by the hand. "It's a nice day; want to walk around the park?"

Bucky tries to hide the way his heart trips all over itself, and makes his fingers curl around Steve's hand in return. "Sure," he says, his smile almost shy. They turn easily into the park together and Bucky takes a moment to look around. "When was the last time we did this?"

Steve has to think about that. "Before you got drafted, I think." 

Bucky hums, thoughtful. "I remember goin' when we were kids," he offers. "But we must'a gone when we were older?"

"I think the last time we went was right before my birthday," Steve muses. "You were leaving for basic in a couple of weeks, and it was a really nice day out. We had the day off of work."

Bucky whistles, and his hand tightens briefly around Steve's. "Long time ago," he says. "Before we got married, even."

Steve's heart does something funny in his chest, but he just laughs lightly. "Yeah, it was a hell of a long time ago," he agrees. "But it was one of the only really good memories I had while you were at basic, and after. One of the few times we went out without me getting into a fight with someone."

Bucky ducks his head, smiling. "I'm glad," he says. "I'm glad you had that."

" _We_ had that," Steve corrects with a smile. 

"I guess we did," Bucky agrees. He squeezes Steve's hand again. "And now we can make new memories, right?"

Steve's smile grows as he tightens his own hold on Bucky's hand. "Yeah, yeah we do. I ever mention lately how glad I am we found each other again? I know the circumstances sucked, but..."

"But," Bucky continues, smiling, "maybe it means we get a second chance." 

Steve bites his lip, but can't hide the pleased smile crossing his face. "You know, I'm okay with that."

* * *

Something clicks that day in Central Park, something that Bucky has been waiting to click ever since he came back to Steve. He's pleased with himself. He's scared out of his mind. He's tingling with anticipation and anxiety and hope, so much hope. He may not have earned this - he definitely hasn't earned this - but most importantly, he's ready. And he thinks Steve is too.

So it throws him for a loop a little when Steve comes out of their bedroom dressed up like Bucky's never seen him. It's not a tux like there are photos of him wearing for fancy Avengers galas, and it's not street casual. It's... nice. Smart shirt and comfortable slacks, shoes that have just been shined. Glasses without a prescription but no baseball cap, and a smile on his face like he's nervous. Does he know what Bucky's planning? Is he planning something similar?

Bucky swallows the stick in his throat and rubs sweaty palms against his jeans. He didn't think to dress up for this - but then, he has nothing to dress up in. "You look nice," he says. "You know somethin' I don't?"

Steve makes a face. "Just that Nat texted me as we were walking back; she's set up a get-together with someone so I can 'get back out there.'" He fishes his phone out from his pocket and reads, "'Got your date all set up, but he could only do tonight so... sorry for the short notice!' And then she put one of those little emojis with its tongue sticking out."

Bucky's mouth goes dry. "Oh," he hears himself say, very quietly, like he's somewhere far away. "So you're... going out. With someone."

"Yeah," Steve says, fussing with the collar of his shirt. "Honestly Nat doesn't have the best track record when it comes to this, but I have to go if I don't want her showing up here and dragging me to the restaurant."

"You're in for a fancy night, then." Why can't Bucky stop talking? Why can't he feel his knees? "I hope he's a swell guy, Stevie."

"I just hope he's not another Jerry," Steve laughs. "Remind me to tell you about the first time she tried to set me up. But I have to get going or I'm going to be late. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, already backing away. "Sure thing."

Steve hesitates, almost like he wants to say something, but in the end all he does is say goodbye and leave. 

* * *

When Steve gets home, Bucky isn't anywhere to be seen in the apartment; it takes Steve a distressingly long time to realize it's because the spare bedroom door is shut. He almost knocks, asks what's wrong - but all he does is rap softly against the door and call a good night through it. 

The next few days are tense and awkward; Steve swears that Bucky is avoiding him, but he's not being obvious about it. It's little things, Bucky not sitting as close or touching Steve as often. It's worrying Steve, and after four days of it he's ready to try asking Bucky what's wrong. 

Then Jarvis sounds an alert. 

"AIM has launched an attack against the New York Stock Exchange and the surrounding blocks," the AI reports. "All Avengers are required to assemble; Baron Strucker has been reported at the scene, as well as unidentified technology."

Bucky, who has been holed up in his bedroom all day, bursts into the kitchen a moment later. "How bad is it?" he demands, his gaze directed fruitlessly at the ceiling.

"Judge Maxson has issued an exception to your restriction," Jarvis replies. "There have already been civilian casualties, and all authorities wish this resolved as quickly as possibly."

Bucky looks at Steve then, for the first time in days. A second's silent communication is all they need. "Give me three minutes," he says, and disappears back into his bedroom.

* * *

Bucky and Steve are ready to go in two; Steve's already strapped his shield to his back, and they jump on Steve's back before taking off for Wall Street; Jarvis keeps them updated on everyone else's status, and they meet Tony, Bruce, and Natasha at the scene. Bruce is already Hulked out, and the five of them waste no time getting set up. Bucky and Natasha split up, heading for different sides of the building, and Steve, Bruce, and Tony head right in the front doors, working their way steadily through the AIM cannon fodder. By the time they've reached the front door, Thor and Clint have shown up, Thor dropping Clint off at the roof of the building. The noise coming through the headset indicates that Clint's gone through the vents, and shortly after there's the dull _thwack_ and choked-off gasp that indicates some other AIM goon has received an arrow to the neck.

The team keeps in touch through the comms, calling out locations of goons and cleared areas as they systemically work there way towards where Baron Strucker was reported. As they're getting closer, Strucker finally brings his new technology into play. It's some kind of sonic weapon; its effects are made clear when he sets it off and the hallway that Steve and Tony were fighting in nearly falls on their heads. "Bastard's managed to get Tesla's oscillator to work, and he's dialed it up to eleven," Tony swears. "Don't know how the hell he managed to get it into a portable gun, but he's done it!"

"Thanks, Tony," Steve calls back. "Any idea on how to stop it?"

"Jarvis is analyzing it as we speak," Tony reports. "I'll let you know when I have something other than 'keep his finger off the trigger.'"

Steve swears. "Nat, Buck, you got that? Try to stay nonlethal, but don't let him use that any more than you can. Tony, can they shoot the weapon?"

"Wouldn't recommend it, Cap. Without a better analysis, can't tell what the repercussions would be."

"Roger," Natasha calls through the comm, Bucky's affirmative coming soon after, and they fall back into the rhythm of fighting, working their way closer and closer to Strucker. When they're two doors away, the building vibrates again, and Bucky shouts in alarm through the comm. "He's bringing down the roof!"

"Tony, civilians, now!" Steve orders, Tony flying off without hesitation, blasting his way through the walls in their way; Steve follows so close he can feel the heat from Tony's thrusters on his face. Tony starts doing damage control on the building, slowing falls and pushing debris aside, Bruce helping while Steve focuses on getting the civilians out. He's just ushered the last into Clint's custody when the metal and glass start creaking and groaning in an alarming manner, giving only two seconds' warning before the roof collapses. Bucky shouts again, and Steve's helpless to watch as he's knocked from the perch he'd found on a balcony, falling nearly fifty feet to the floor below; the fall itself wouldn't be too bad, but Bucky's struck by debris from the roof on the way down. When he lands, he doesn't get up.

Steve's by his side in what feels like the blink of an eye, barely able to hear Tony giving Bruce the okay to smash Strucker's device, or Bruce following his directions. He thinks Natasha knocks Strucker out, taking him into custody, but all of his attention is focused on Bucky, on getting him stabilized and stopping the flow of blood from his head and leg - the leg had been struck by debris, and Steve hopes nothing's broken. From there, everything's a blur as EMTs rush in, finishing stabilizing Bucky and taking him on a stretcher to the ambulance to get him back to the hospital, Steve with them the whole way. He remembers pacing in a waiting room while Bucky goes through surgery, remembers all but stumbling down a white hall to Bucky's room when a nurse came to get him. He has no idea how much time passes from when he collapses onto a chair, taking Bucky's hand in his, and when Bucky's fingers finally twitch, his eyelids fluttering. Steve sits up straight, then leans forward. His voice is hoarse when says, "Bucky?"

"Steve," Bucky rasps. He smiles, opens his eyes. "I had 'em on the ropes."

"You had a piece of the building on the ropes?" Steve asks with a weak laugh, using the heel of one hand to wipe at the tears gathering in his eyes. "Jesus, Bucky, you scared the shit out of all of us."

"Ah," Bucky says, dismissive. "Someone's gotta keep you on your toes." He looks at Steve then, his gaze sharp for all that it's still slightly unfocused. "Is everyone else okay? Are you?"

"Yeah, everyone else is fine," Steve promises. "Just some scrapes and bruises. We got all the other civilians out, too."

"That's good," Bucky sighs, and rests his head back against the pillow. "Don't want anyone else dyin' because of me."

"You actually helped save them," Steve points out, his tone gentle. "Clint couldn't have covered every angle of that building. It was really helpful to have another sniper."

Bucky's mouth twists. "Maybe," he says. He glances at Steve again. "Are you okay? How long have you been sitting there?"

"I... honestly have no idea. I didn't look at the clock when I came in. Probably a couple of hours?"

Bucky hums and gives Steve's hand a weak squeeze. "When can I get out of here?"

"I don't know," Steve admits. "But now that you're up, I can go get a nurse? They could bring in a doctor who could tell us something more specific."

"Please," Bucky sighs. "I hate hospitals."

"I know you do," Steve says, giving Bucky's hand a reassuring squeeze as he stands up. "I'll go grab a nurse and be right back."

* * *

They don't let Bucky go until the next day, which is ridiculous and over-cautious in his opinion. He's exhausted and aching all over, though, so he doesn't have it in him to protest too much, nor to tell Steve to back off when his hovering and fretting becomes incessant. Still, he's a little anxious once they actually get back to the apartment, knowing he's put off facing the music for too long - so Tony Stark's unexpected presence in their living room comes as a welcome distraction.

"What do you want?" Bucky grouses. "If you're here to tell me the big wigs want my head for being out of my cell for so long, you can fuck off. They told me to leave, and they're the reason I was too fucked up to come back."

"Just the opposite, in fact," Tony says cheerfully, seemingly unfazed by Bucky's grouchy attitude. "I've got a shiny new email in my inbox with an official pardon for you, as well as the lifting of the house arrest you've been under."

Bucky may have fallen over if Steve wasn't holding him up. "What?" he demands. "It's a fake. Or a joke."

"Nope," Tony says with a grin as he follows Steve and Bucky to the couch. "Already confirmed it; it's been unanimously approved by everyone involved in the decision, based on evidence from that handy little data dump Romanoff and Fury pulled off and your recent actions. You're a free bird, Barnes."

But Bucky's eyes narrow. "What, until the next time they decide I've put a toe out of line? What's the catch here, Stark?"

Tony holds up his hands. "No catch! Except for the usual law-abiding citizen shit. Mainly no defecting to Hydra and trying to kill everyone."

"And will I still be under observation?"

"Nope. That's actually why I'm here, modifying Jarvis's protocols. He doesn't report anything that isn't immediately life-threatening now, and he's more like an omnipotent butler than an omnipotent security guard."

"But I still have to stay here?" Bucky asks.

"Well I figured you would while looking for something new, or maybe while you figure out where you want to vacation to get away from the idiotic American government," Tony says reasonably. "If you decide you want to move out, I can always uninstall Jarvis."

Bucky considers this, and nods. "Okay," he says. "I'm gonna want to see this in writing, maybe with one of your fancy lawyers sitting next to me, but... thanks."

Tony nods. "Pepper is already setting that up, but she said it's not going to be for a day or two yet so you can rest after taking a roof to the face."

" _Tony,_ " Steve says, exasperated, but Tony just grins. 

"Sorry, to the leg. Either way, rest up and prepare yourself for a short, boring meeting. Or maybe not so short?"

"Tony, now might not be the best time - "

"Nonsense, he needs time to think over his answer," Tony says dismissively, though he waits for Steve to press the issue. When he doesn't, Tony continues, "The team all talked it over, and it'll be officially proposed whenever you get your official pardon from the judge himself, but we would like to officially offer you a position on the Avengers team."

"What?" Bucky snorts. " _No_." His eyes widen a fraction and he takes a second to rethink. "I mean, thanks, but probably no thanks."

Tony just laughs. "Think about it. If nothing else, we'd like to be able to call on you if things are really crappy," he says with a grin. "Now, I'll get out of your hair, and Jarvis will let you know the details of that lawyer meeting whenever Pepper has finished setting it up."

"Great," Bucky says, "thanks," and then Stark is gone and he's left alone with Steve. Fuck. "Fuck."

Steve looks alarmed. "You okay? I know he kind of just dumped everything on you, but no one is expecting any kind of answer to any of it."

"I know," Bucky says. "I'll think about it, but. I don't know."

Steve just nods. "All right."

* * *

The meeting goes as well as can be expected; Bucky doesn't say a whole lot, just repeats the questions he'd asked Tony, and neither does Steve. Steve's too caught up in thinking about what the fact that Bucky can _leave_ now means. He's happy for Bucky, of course he is - he's wanted Bucky to have as much freedom as he can this whole time, after all - but he's also a bit worried. What if Bucky decides that, now that he can go everywhere he wants to go by himself, he will? What if he leaves Steve behind?

Luckily, nothing much is needed of Steve from that meeting, and after the lawyers and Pepper are gone, Steve turns to Bucky with a slight smile. "So, you're a free bird now, huh?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, the word little more than an exhalation of breath. He rubs his hands on his thighs and looks up. "Guess it's time I got out of your hair, huh?"

Steve watches Bucky curiously, almost warily. "What do you mean?"

Bucky clenches his right hand into a fist against his leg and makes himself meet Steve's gaze. "Well, I can't live in your back pocket forever, can I?" he asks. "Gotta let you live your life, and work out how to live mine."

"What are you saying, then?" Steve asks, swallowing past the lump in his throat. 

Bucky shrugs. "Maybe I should move out."

Steve blinks. "You - Like, just out of this apartment, or out of the whole building?"

"You said it yourself, I'm a free bird now," Bucky points out. "Maybe I should spread my wings."

Steve kicks his lips once, a nervous tic, and nods. "Yeah, you could," he agrees. "Doesn't mean you have to leave here forever, though."

"No," Bucky agrees, "I guess not. But I think it means I have to leave now." He gives Steve a sad smile and gets to his feet.

Steve blinks. "Wait, what?" he asks, almost desperate as he steps closer to Bucky. "Why does it mean that?"

"Like I said," Bucky says, "it's just time. I'm sure Stark can set me up pretty much straight away, or else I'll work something out. But you need your own space and. And honestly, so do I."

That brings Steve up short. "Have I - done something?" he asks tentatively. Has Bucky figured him out? Is he uncomfortable living with someone who's in unrequited love with him?

"No," Bucky says, and he can't help the harsh laugh that escapes him. "No, Steve, it's not your fault, just somethin' I need to deal with." He walks away then, but hesitates when he reaches his bedroom. "Should I ask Stark to get his team started on the divorce? It still counts, right? In New York at least."

Steve frowns. "Divorce? You - wait, Bucky, what are you talking about? Why do you want to get a divorce?" he asks, following Bucky, his heart flipping in his chest at the possibilities he doesn't want to consider.

"So you can live your life," Bucky says, his duffel bag already in his hands. "Settle down with someone you actually _want_. It wasn't a real marriage, anyway." He turns back to Steve then, something almost like accusation in his eyes. "Was it?"

Steve hesitates. "It wasn't," he admits quietly. "It never was. But I - I don't want anyone else, Bucky."

"Maybe not," Bucky says bitterly, "but you don't want _me_. Your gender isn't the only thing the history books got wrong, is it?"

"What are you talking about?" Steve asks, more out of confusion than desperation.

It's as if Bucky doesn't even hear him. "Did you forget that I spent the last _seventy years_ having my brain put through a blender?" he demands. "You walk into that fucking _cell_ they were keeping me in all roses and sunshine, 'It's okay, Buck, I told them we were married and they let me right in!' I tried so, so hard, but I couldn't remember that. I couldn't remember loving you. So I thought, okay, I'll try harder. And I still didn't remember loving you. But I _did_. And I thought maybe that could be good enough. I thought--" He cuts himself off, swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat. "But it was a _lie_."

"You thought what?" Steve asks, reeling from what Bucky's just told him - and what he thinks Bucky just told him. "Bucky, we weren't in love before, but that doesn't mean that we couldn't be _now._ "

"Don't bullshit me," Bucky says, and he's suddenly so tired. "I know you're seeing someone. Which, hell of a way to find out your husband _isn't_ your husband."

"Seeing someone?" Steve echoes, staring at Bucky. "What are you - " It hits him, then, and he's shaking his head even as he protests, "That wasn't a _romantic_ date, Bucky! That was Natasha asking me to meet some normal people and try to have friends who aren't super heroes. I haven't actually seen him since."

"Oh." Bucky lets out a shaky breath. "Well. It still doesn't change anything."

"What doesn't it change?"

"That none of this is real, and that I need to leave if I'm ever going to accept that."

"What if it was?" Steve asks, stepping closer. "What if I was in love with you? I - I wasn't, before. But since we've been living together, since you came back, I... I think I am. No," he amends, deciding to lay all of his cards on the table. "I am. I know I am. I'm in love with you."

Bucky actually takes a step back, but it's a small one, and it's more like he just lost his balance for a second. "What?"

"I'm in love with you," Steve repeats, encouraged. "I don't expect you to stay just because I say that, but I don't want you to think that I don't. I'm in love with you. Have been for a few months, now."

Bucky looks small and hopelessly lost. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you were still figuring out how to be _you,_ " Steve answers. "I didn't want to make that any harder that it already was. You deserved to figure out how to be you before anything else."

Bucky nods. He looks a little braver now. "I did," he agrees. "But the person I am has always been so tied up with you. And what I've worked out is that the person I've become now loves you like crazy."

Steve's breath catches in his chest. "You do?"

"Yeah," Bucky breathes. "Though God only knows why."

Steve grins. "I am a bit of an idiot," he agrees. "Don't know why you've put up with me this long."

"Maybe it's because you're still the best guy I know," Bucky offers. He hesitates, his hand twitching at his side. "Can I?"

Steve lifts his arms, opening them in invitation. He smiles at Bucky, something that feels an awful lot like hope warming his chest. "C'mere."

Bucky's there in an instant, and he presses his face into the side of Steve's neck with a shaky breath. They haven't hugged like this since before Bucky landed himself in the hospital. "I missed you," he whispers.

Steve has to swallow a lump in his throat before he can speak. "I missed you, too," he murmurs, holding on to Bucky just a little bit tighter. "But we've worked it out, haven't we? Or started to, at least."

"I think so." Bucky sighs, runs his right hand down Steve's back until his fingers catch on his soft leather belt. "You look good lately," he mumbles, without really meaning to.

Steve smiles. "So do you," he replied. "Nice to see you looking relaxed again."

"I don't think I've ever seen you like this," Bucky admits. "I guess we've both changed a lot."

"I think we finally figured out who we really are," Steve muses. "Kinda freeing, coming back from the dead in a new century."

Bucky laughs and pulls back. "Yeah," he says. "Some of us came back a little bit twisted, though."

"Well, I still love you," Steve says. 

Bucky's answering smile is soft and a little awed. "God help me," he sighs. "I love you, too."

Steve smiles, then hesitates, glancing down at Bucky's lips for a moment. "May I kiss you? I - If you don't want to, that's fine, but it's... It's something I've been wanting to do for a while."

Bucky barks a surprised laugh. "This ain't the forties now, Stevie," he teases. "You don't gotta ask permission to kiss me."

"I just want to make sure you're okay with it!" Steve protests, face flushing. "I don't know, maybe you don't want to kiss me yet, or ever. Maybe it's not your thing, now."

Bucky laughs again, gets his hands back on Steve's belt so he can reel him in. " _You're_ my thing now," he says, and kisses him.

Steve makes a sound of surprise that's muffled against Bucky's mouth before he relaxes into the kiss, one hand coming up to rest against Bucky's cheek, the other arm wrapping around Bucky's waist to pull him closer. When they part, he's smiling. "You know, for someone who hasn't gotten any action since he came to New York, you're pretty good at that," he teases. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, grinning. "Because you've had plenty of practice, right? With all those dates Natasha keeps sending you on?"

"I didn't go on most of them," Steve laughs. "But Natasha did kiss me once. Anyway, I'm 96, not dead."

Bucky pulls a face. "Okay," he says, "I don't want to hear about the people you've been kissing."

"Would you rather I just kiss you for the rest of our lives?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, and his smile is a little breathless. "Actually, that sounds great."

"Well," Steve murmurs, hands moving to cup Bucky's face between them so he can draw him back in. "Guess I better get started."

* * *

_"It has been four months since Captain America held his second press conference in as many years to shed light on the inaccuracies in the ways he has been portrayed throughout history. The first time, the man known for the better part of history as Steve Rogers called out historians worldwide for identifying him as a woman, and for their depiction of his relationship with life-long friend Sergeant James Barnes, now best-known as the former Hydra and KGB assassin, The Winter Soldier. The two were married in the early 1940s, and although the Captain insisted that their relationship was strictly platonic, he chose to keep Barnes’ last name after he legally altered his name and gender in 2012. Sergeant Barnes was cleared of all crimes both stateside and internationally last year, but we haven't heard much about him since - except for the fact that, four months ago, Captain America called that second press conference to announce that his relationship with James Barnes, who prefers to be called Bucky, has developed into a romantic one after all._

_"Today, I am coming to you live from the press line outside Avengers Tower, where Steve and Bucky Barnes are set to renew the vows they made to each other almost a century ago, when, as they both insist, their main concern was keeping a small and sickly soon-to-be Captain America alive and financially supported in the event of Barnes' death during World War Two. I am joined by renowned World War historian, and Captain America expert, Doctor Robert Cowan._

_"Doctor Cowan, when Steve Barnes came out as transgender and bisexual two years ago, it all but sparked a revolution within the LGBT community - and rumpled quite a few feathers in the process. Now that he has overwritten his former insistence that his relationship with Bucky Barnes was strictly platonic with evidence of what certainly seems like a romantic and deeply loving involvement, a marriage even, what impact will this have? Is this a beautiful, tragic love story that spans generations? Or is Captain Barnes backtracking on what he said two years ago, and if so, do you think he will retract other statements, too?"_

_"Well, that's an interesting question, Karen, and I think--_ "

"Oh, who cares?" The projection cuts off abruptly, and Tony claps a warm hand on Steve's shoulder. "What are you doing watching that crap? There are hundreds of your adoring public on the other side of the Tower, waiting for you to emerge with your beloved for a balcony kiss like Will and Kate. I should probably have assigned a balcony for that very purpose. What's more, you have a very sharply-dressed man, if I do say so myself, waiting for you two floors up to come and make an honest man of him. Again!"

"Guess I'm just a glutton for punishment," Steve laughs, but he turns towards Tony regardless. "Thanks for arranging all this, by the way. Again."

Tony waves it off. "Ah, it was easy," he says. "Nothing to it. Really. Thank _you_ for not being an unbearable groomzilla and letting me get on with it." He flashes a sharp grin, but it quickly softens into a more genuine smile. "You ready?"

"Yeah," Steve says, unable to help his own smile. "Nervous, but excited. We're doing it for real, this time."

"Well, you already filed all the paperwork," Tony teases. "Pretty sure you also spent most of the last century upholding all your vows. Your respective deaths and Barnes' time as a POW notwithstanding. You already know how to love each other, and that's what marriage _is_." He clears his throat, takes an awkward step back. "At least, that's what Pepper tells me. If she's caught wedding fever from you, Cap, I swear..."

Steve smirks. "I don't know, Tony, she seemed awfully invested in helping me and Buck pick out our rings."

"Lalalala!" Tony cries, covering his ears and spinning away. "I can't hear you! What's that, Jarvis? Barnes is getting impatient enough to leave the other Barnes at the altar?"

Steve just laughs, clapping Tony on the shoulder and leading him to the elevator. "Well we certainly wouldn't want that. Come on, I need to walk down the aisle with my co-captain."

Bucky is waiting for them when they get there, out on a little private terrace that isn't visible from the public sides of the Tower. Natasha is gleaming by his side, but Steve only has eyes for Bucky, who seems equally taken with Steve. He reaches for Steve's hands as soon as he's close enough and gently tugs him the last few steps until they're standing together before the minister. Bucky's smile is a thing of beauty. "Hi," he breathes, and fuck, he's blushing just a little. "You ready?"

Steve's own smile is wide, his cheeks flushed. "More than."


End file.
